


Across the Stars

by jacksqueen16, TC (thecollective)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Big Bang Challenge, Character Death, DCBB, DCBB 2016, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2016, Destiel - Freeform, Dick Roman is a dick, Illustrated, Implied Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, One-Sided Gabriel/Sam Winchester - Freeform, POV Alternating, POV Multiple, Science Fiction, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Space Opera, Space Pirates, Space zombies, Spaceships, accidental bed sharing, galactic interdimensional space wings, grumpy feathers, space ninja assassins, unsavory space pub, yes those are the tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 13:04:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 56,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8625487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacksqueen16/pseuds/jacksqueen16, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecollective/pseuds/TC
Summary: In the far future, the Rebellion fights a pitched battle against the Hel Empire. Led by a mysterious angel-like creature called Castiel, rebel forces work to eliminate the hold of Emperor Crowley over the galaxy. When Castiel is in need of reliable transportation back to the Rebel base, his fellow rebel Sam Winchester calls upon his estranged brother Dean. Though neutral in the war, Dean agrees to help them. It soon becomes evident that Castiel is hiding things from the brothers, including secrets about their past and an ancient threat that could tear apart the very fabric of space and time. This is a space opera, inspired by Firefly, Doctor Who, and, of course, Star Wars. It is told in alternating points of view.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aceriee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aceriee/gifts), [Ignisentis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ignisentis/gifts).



> **Authors' Note:** Firstly, we would like to thank our artist, [Aceriee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aceriee/pseuds/Aceriee) for breathing life into our story. Her artwork truly inspired us, and motivated us to keep going. Thank you so, so much. We'd also like to thank our betas: [Ignisentis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ignisentis/pseuds/Ignisentis) and [Diva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecollective/pseuds/C_Diva) for pushing us to be better writers...and mercilessly calling us out on our overusage of descriptors! We truly appreciate you and every minute you spent helping us. 
> 
> **Art masterpost:** You can find Aceriee's stunning artwork [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8627311) and [here](http://missaceriee.tumblr.com/tagged/atsdcbb16).
> 
>  **Note to the Reader:** The timeline to this story is non-linear, and told in multiple points of view. It's wibbly wobbly, timey wimey, and definitely spacey wacey, so be prepared for the "wait what?" moments that might arrive in a time-travelling space opera. We know that it can be confusing, but we promise it's worth it! For your convenience, and to help with some of the possible confusion, we've created a **glossary** which you can find [here](https://casual-female-viewer.tumblr.com/post/153568593864/glossary-for-across-the-stars).
> 
> Also, we blatantly ignore the portrayal of the Darkness in the second half of season 11, and have constructed our own depiction of the universe's oldest evil.
> 
> Rated M: Warnings for language, some violence, and character death.

##### 

* * *

#####  **  
**

**Prologue**

_A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…_

_Once upon a time…._

_Four score and three thousand years ago..._

_Blah blah blah blah blah_

With a deep sigh, the author crumpled up the used paper and tossed it in the corner, where it joined dozens of its predecessors. He smoothed out a fresh piece of paper, gripped the pen tightly in his hand, and began again.

_Where there is Light, there is Darkness. Where there is Good, there is Evil._

He crossed it out. His first story began like that. He needed something new, something fresh, something no one had read before, but it still needed to feel familiar. He glanced at his _very_ rough outline and at the character sketches beneath them:

_Epic space opera type story:_

_Plot, option 1—Guardian of a planet goes in search of missing brother. Hires crew of mercenaries at unsavoury space pub. As they search for missing person, they uncover a big giant horrible threat against the universe. (something like The Odyssey but not really)_

_Plot, option 2—_ _A merry band of mercenaries living aboard a ship, and they’ll do whatever job for the highest bidder (but not too much like Firefly for copyright reasons). They’re hired by the Rebellion to escort the Prophet to the Rebellion’s secret base. The prophet and crew are attacked by members of the Darkness Cult and…something happens. Captain of the Mercenaries decides to join the Rebellion and then [insert plot device here] and they destroy the Darkness. (Mercenary falls in love with rebellion leader???)_

_Characters_

  * _a space mercenary (think Han Solo meets Captain Mal, with more angst)_


  * _leader of the Rebellion against the Darkness OR guardian of special planet?_


  * _The Space Prophet (foresees the impending destruction of the universe??)_


  * _the Expert in Ancient Lore, aka the Yoda. (brother to space mercenary??)_


  * _Someone like the Lando Calrissian who just randomly appears in a cape._


  * _The Darkness_


  * _Space zombies???_


  * _Creepy space cult that worships the Darkness??? (also space zombies?)_



He groaned and ripped the outline in half. If he couldn’t decide on a plot, this story wouldn’t ever work. He knew all too well what could happen if he began writing without a specific plot in mind. He looked at the two pieces of the outline, now lined up so the two plots appeared side by side. Well, now there was an idea. That just might work.

 _Galactic interdimensional space wings_ , he scribbled at the bottom of one of the scraps of paper. _Wibbly wobbly, timey wimey plot_.

The author grabbed another piece of clean paper, ready to rewrite the outline again. This story would be different. This time, he would get it right.


	2. Paint it Black (Dean POV)

 

It was one of those days.

Fuck, it was one of those _weeks._

Dean Winchester took a swig from the chipped glass, but it did nothing to dull the throb in his chest. The pain came from nowhere, sometimes. Other times, he could feel it hurtling toward him from a light year away.

How did other people deal with shit like this? He often wondered, but never changed his own habits. The bottle was safe. The bottle was as good as family, most days.

The amulet he wore around his neck was cold against his naked skin, and he clenched it in his fist to warm the metal. He didn't know where he had gotten the necklace; he'd always had it, and on days like today, it was comforting. 

The body next to his stirred, the sheets rustling. The Almah had followed him back to the Impala the night before, and well, he hadn’t said no. Dean hadn’t said no in years.

The glass was empty.

Dean got out of bed instead of pouring himself another. He didn’t want to be around when the Almah woke. Pulling on the clothes closest to him, he dressed in the darkness before leaving his room. He squinted against the stinging light of the hallway. He didn’t need to see in order to get around the Impala anyway—he’d grown up on the ship, knew her better than he knew himself sometimes.  

“Have a good time?” a voice called from the end of the hallway. Dean opened his eyes wider to take in the sight of his first mate and co-pilot. Jessica leaned against the metal-plated wall outside the crew’s quarters, a smirk on her face.

“Shut up.”

“You’re limping a little.”

“I am not.”

Jess twisted the end of one of her saarahs around her index finger. “I had no idea Almahs floated your ship.”

“Watch out, or that skin of yours will turn green.”

The Crinis held out an arm. “Pretty sure this flawless complexion is staying blue.”

Dean snorted.

“No comebacks?” Jess laughed. “You must be satisfied if your brain is fuzzy.”

Reaching her, he tugged on the blue saarah.

“Ouch!” her hand flew up to her head, where the two saarahs began. Longer than most, the hairlike appendages had always been intriguing to Dean.

“That didn’t hurt you,” Dean said, moving past her toward the top floor of the Impala.

“Only a Crinis can touch another Crinis’ saarahs.”

“You just made that up right now.”

“And if I did? You’re not a Crinis, last I checked.”

Dean paused half way up the step ladder. “Point taken.”

“So, are we heading out?” Jess climbed up after him.

“As soon as the Almah leaves, yes.”

“I thought we didn’t have another job til Steerer needed the cargo from System Five?”

“You ever been to a Neutronfire shower? The sky is supposed to look like there’s a million fireflies exploding.”

Jess scoffed. “You’re kidding, right? We have those all the time on Crin.”

“I bet Claire’s never seen one. We should find one. Educating young minds, and all that.”

“What haven’t I seen?” A blonde head appeared around the corner of the main bay.

“A Neutronfire shower.”

Claire Novak frowned. “Who’s asking?”

Jess slapped Dean’s shoulder. “Our fearless Captain is running from his one-night stand. Apparently that means we have to go halfway across the galaxy.”

It wasn’t the first time.

“Claire, be a sweetheart and go by my quarters. Tell our guest that they have five minutes to leave,” Dean instructed.

Claire made a face. “Now I have to do your dirty work? That’s not fair.”

“Ship’s apprentice. You gotta learn how to do everything I do.”

The teen started down the ladder. “Not everything, I hope…”

In the cockpit, Dean and Jess found Jody tinkering with the navigation system. “There you are,” she said. She smiled at Dean, that special smile that she kept only for him. She said that it was because he’d given her work when no one else would take her sorry, half-alien ass in. Dean knew that it was because he reminded her of the brother she’d lost. “I got the mapping network back up, whenever you’re ready to go.”

“Bobby let you do that by yourself?”

Jody frowned. “I don’t need his help to fix my own equipment, thank you.”

Dean grinned. “I know that. But does he?”

Jody took her place in the seat behind where Jess always sat, pulling the navigation tablet closer. “Where to?”

“The nearest Neutronfire shower.”

Jody looked at Jess, eyebrows raised. “That’s very specific, thank you.”

Dean buckled himself into the captain’s seat, and radioed down to Bobby that the ship would be moving soon. The mechanic grumbled back, something about blasters and idjits. For someone whose livelihood depended on engineering and maintaining ships in space, Bobby hated flying.

Claire popped in to let them know that the Almah had finally left, and that Dean owed her an extra ration for her work. She was gone before he could say no to her demand, her blonde braids disappearing around the corner. Jess tightened her seatbelt and laughed. “She’s got you wrapped around her little finger. Be careful or she’ll rob you blind.”

“She learned from the best,” Dean said. He didn’t mention that he saw himself in her, that he’d felt her pain once and remembered what it was like to hate the galaxy and everything in it. That the pain of being abandoned by a parent was enough to fuel a lifetime of breaking rules.

“Okay, I found one,” said Jody. “If we go into lux right outside orbit, we’ll get there in approximately two hours.”

Dean nearly didn’t hear the beeping of the radio over the sound of the Impala’s engines roaring to life. He nodded to Jess to answer as he got the ship off the ground.

“Navis KAZ 2Y5, go ahead.”

The connection crackled for a moment before someone replied. “Jess?”  

Dean’s heart stuttered in his chest. “Sam?”

“Hey, Dean. You got a minute?”

Dean’s hands hovered over the controls for a moment before he gripped them tight. Out of the cockpit window, he could see a smaller ship waiting for him to vacate his spot. “What’s up, tiger?”  He forced himself to sound friendly.

Sam paused, and Dean could almost picture him. He hadn’t seen his younger brother for four years—nothing more than the occasional holo-message on a birthday—but he knew just how Sam’s forehead was wrinkling. A few breaths came over the line before: “I need your help.”

Dean glanced at Jess and Jody out of the corner of his eye. They were both giving him _the look_ —the one that warned that if he didn’t do the right thing, they wouldn’t let him hear the end of it for at least a light year.

He turned toward the radio as though it contained the other Winchester, and the ache in his chest was back, an iron band around his heart. “What do you need, Sammy?”

“It’s Sam.”

Reflex. “Bitch.”

“Jerk!”

Jess snorted and Dean’s lips twitched. The band relaxed a little and he found he could breathe. “What do you need, Sam?”

A rustle came over the line, like papers were being shifted around. “I need to move some cargo. Consider it a transport job.”

“Shop talk, from you? Must be important,” Dean said.

“Do you want the job or not? I can pay you.”

“No need. Family business and all that.”

“Oh...okay, thanks.” More rustling. The pilot of the smaller ship gave up on Dean moving and flew away with his middle finger raised high.

“So what’s the cargo?”

“It’s a bit of a...delicate situation. Can we meet in person to discuss transportation?”

“You sound a little bit like one of those Hel sheriffs that’s always on my tail,” Dean laughed dryly. “You sure this ain’t a trick?”

“Dean, I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Jess slapped his arm, and he moved as far out of her range as the seatbelt would allow. “Fine. Where do you wanna meet?”

“Can you make it to the Planead System by tomorrow?”

Jody nodded and Dean said, “Yeah, we’ll be there.”

“Radio this code when you arrive.”

Jess was already scribbling down the channel before Dean could ask.

“Okay. See you then Sammy.”

“It’s Sam.” The line went dead.

Jody cleared her throat. “So...that’s the little brother.”

Dean fiddled with the thrusters. “Planead System?”

“Head East.”


	3. Bad Moon on the Rise (Castiel POV)

The lights appeared out of the darkness, blinking into existence one-at-a-time. He could just make out the outline of Hannah’s illuminated form. Castiel’s _aushath_ unfurled in greeting to his brethren, who were returning home after a visit to the Hel Empire, the largest and most powerful ruling entity in the galaxy.

- _Hello brothers-_ greeted Castiel.

A chorus of greetings echoed in Castiel’s mind, but one voice was conspicuously missing.

- _Where is Gabriel?-_  asked Castiel. - _Where is our brother?-_ The Malakin’s _aushath_ twitched, and no one answered Castiel’s inquiry. All avoided his eyes. - _Gabriel?-_ Castiel asked again. He projected his worry as far as he could, but there was a resounding silence. - _Gabriel?-_

There was no answer.

- _We are sorry, Castiel_ ,- said his brethren, - _But Gabriel has left the Malakin.-_

Castiel’s _aushath_ flinched, and the space in Castiel’s mind where Gabriel’s melodic but often irritatingly insistent voice resided grew bereft, and disturbing in its quiet. The light of his _aushath_ dimmed until they grew so dark that his brethren grew concerned and called upon Naomi.

Castiel had often been summoned to Naomi before, but he had always met her at the Temple and not her _nava_. In the Temple, he would have understood her stern and quiet face, and her sombre tone of voice would have been appropriate, but her stoic words—  _Gabriel has lost his sense of duty, Castiel —_ felt uncalled for. They had lost a brother; should that not require empathy?

- _He is no longer focusing on the Malakin,-_ said Naomi, - _For some time now, he has been lost in a fantasy. He is weak.-_

- _But Gabriel has always been one of our strongest. He would not abandon us.-_

Naomi breathed a deep sigh, one that seemed to reach to the ends of her _aushath_. - _He no longer sees himself as one of us_ .- Her _aushath_ flattened. Castiel did not know if it was from resignation or if it was defeat. - _Go to his_ nava, _if you do not believe me.-_

It was a clear sign of dismissal, and one that Castiel was only too eager to take. Naomi’s workspace at the Temple had always been cold, but the temperature at her _nava_ was so frigid that Castiel shivered, tremors echoing through his _aushath_. Her dismissal held no more warmth than the air surrounding them.

As he stepped onto the landing outside her _nava_ , stretching his _aushath_ wide and preparing for flight, he took a moment to look over the largest city on Malaket. In the distance, he could just make out the structure of his _nava;_ Gabriel’s was much closer to the center of the city, and would take no more than a few minutes to fly there.

If it was true what Naomi had said, then perhaps some clue as to why Gabriel left would be in his brother’s _nava_.

Gabriel’s home was as untidy as Castiel’s was neat. Not a single surface was left uncovered; books, papers, and even scrolls were strewn haphazardly, as if Castiel’s brother had tossed them aside without thought to their age or value to the Malakin. This was not like Gabriel, who had always had such reverence for the Malakin and their ways. Castiel picked up the book nearest to him; its pages were yellowed with age, and it smelled of a time long since past. Carefully, he thumbed the book open. The words staring back at him were of a language that Castiel did not recognize.

He did, however, recognize Gabriel’s messy handwriting in the margins of the book. Castiel could make little sense of words like _apocalypse_ , _vessels_ , and _Casa Erotica_. Castiel frowned when he came across the word _Earth_. Earth was a myth, something that humans told to their offspring as a warning against bad behavior. Naomi and the other Elders had waved the stories about Earth off as fantasy, but if this book of unknown origin was in the Malakin’s collection, then surely there must be a reason why?

Sifting through the other books and documents, Castiel found that Earth was the common thread tying together all of Gabriel’s irrational research. Castiel wondered how Gabriel had learned to read this language, since as far as Castiel knew, Naomi and the other Elders had never had such texts translated into the language of the Malakin.

What had drawn Gabriel to these books to begin with?

When Castiel looked up from his search, he saw that Malaket’s suns had set. He gathered as much of Gabriel’s research as he could carry and flew home to his _nava_. Once home, he carefully stowed away the books and papers inside of a chest, which he then placed out of sight. He did not believe that Naomi would tell him about Gabriel only to chastise him for looking at his brother’s research, but he thought it best not to test that theory if any of his other brethren came for a visit.

It was nearing first sunrise when Castiel finally fell asleep. He dreamed about darkness and death, which according to legend, is how Earth had been destroyed.

* * *

 

Castiel had been at his post for nearly three first sunsets. The second sun would set soon, but Samandriel had sent word that his replacement would not arrive for hours yet.

It gave Castiel time to think. Too much time, perhaps.

He imagined being Gabriel and learning about Earth from some of the oldest texts in the galaxy. Still, he could not think of anything that would draw his brother away from Malaket. What had Gabriel learned that would cause him to abandon his family and his home?

Beyond his post, past the outer reaches of Malaket’s mesosphere, were the answers, but only if he could find Gabriel.

 _Find Gabriel_.

Castiel had never left Malaket. All he knew of the galaxy beyond his planet was what he had learned from books and from the tales of his brethren. Guardians were nothing without something to guard, and Naomi’s words on duty and loyalty resounded loudly throughout his mind. Yet, Malaket was just one small part of a larger sum, and looking out from his post, the galaxy seemed so vast and yet so small, like it was constantly constricting and expanding, like a set of lungs.

 _-Castiel-_ came Samandriel’s voice- _You will be relieved shortly. Anael will be your replacement.-_

Anael was a loyal Malak. Perhaps she could advise him about Gabriel.

When Anael arrived, she looked troubled but would say nothing about her concerns when Castiel asked. _-It is nothing, Castiel-_ she assured him. - _I promise you. I am ready to take the guardianship for three sunsets.-_

She moved to relieve him of his post, but he stopped her. - _Have you heard about Gabriel?_ -he asked.

- _That he left? The whole of Malaket knows.-_

- _But do you know why?-_ Castiel pressed.

 _-Naomi only said that he forgot his duty.-_ Her eyes, and her _aushath_ , seemed to wilt and fill with a heavy sadness. - _Duty, Castiel. Who gives us this ‘duty’? Who tells us to be the way we are?-_

Castiel had no answer for her, only another question. _-Would you find Gabriel, if you could?-_

Anael thought for a moment. _-Yes,-_ she said at last, _-And then I would probably join him.-_

* * *

 

Castiel returned to his _nava_ that night more confused than when he had left three sunsets earlier. He had hoped that Anael would tell him that duty was more important, that the responsibility of the Malakin to care for each other and Malaket would outweigh the concern he felt for Gabriel. Instead, his _aushath_ twitched, itching to move, to leave, to search for Gabriel.

His _nava_ had little adornment. He was not like Gabriel, who collected books—especially ones that featured food from various parts of the galaxy or delicacies of a more carnal nature—or Hael, who had a stone from every settlement she visited outside of Malaket’s capital city. Castiel did however keep a small amulet on the table next to his bed. It was not of Malaket, and Castiel no longer remembered where he had gotten it, but he kept it near him while he slept. He liked to think that it gave him peaceful slumber.

He rubbed the amulet for good luck before settling into his bed for the evening, tucking his _aushath_ around him. Their light was still dim, as it had been since Gabriel’s absence was known.

That night, however, Castiel did not find undisturbed rest, instead choosing to replay the most recent memory he had of Gabriel. The last time he had seen Gabriel was the morning before his departure for the Hel Empire. His brother had cooked him a meal just after the second sunrise, a “specialty from the planet Nebska.” The ‘specialty’ had turned out to be the testicles of something like a felis, the first pet Castiel had owned. Castiel had politely refused to eat any, but he had enjoyed Gabriel’s conversation more than the food. His brother was the type of person to talk to anyone about anything, and conversation came easily to him where it never came easy to Castiel. Perhaps this was why Gabriel had always been his favorite of all his brethren.

In fact, that last meal they had spent together was not spent discussing the looming threat of the Hel Empire, or Naomi’s insistence on ending all trade with outside planets, but rather on what they each liked to read. While Castiel did not read much outside of what was assigned by Naomi or the other Elders, Gabriel was a voracious reader and enjoyed books that he picked up in other parts of the galaxy.

 _-I always read the ending first-_ Gabriel had told him.

- _Why?-_ Castiel had asked.

_-I don’t like sad endings. If it ends sadly, I don’t read the rest of the book.-_

Castiel shot up, his _aushath_ extending to the furthest reaches of the room. The book, _Gabriel’s book,_ the one with the writing in the margins, was on the table by the door. Grabbing it and treating it with none of the gentleness he had the last time he’d held it, he flicked it open to the last page.

Only one word was underlined on this page, appearing to consist of only three letters. In the margin, Gabriel had written, “Sam. The Void.

Castiel knew no one named Sam, but every Malak had heard of the Void. If Gabriel had gone there to find this ‘Sam’, only the Elders would know how to find him. Instinctively, he turned to leave his _nava_ and head to the temple, but then he wondered if Naomi, who had sounded so disappointed and ambivalent to Gabriel’s departure, would send a search party to the Void or allow him to search on his own.

 _-Your duty is to Malaket-_ he could almost hear her say.

He thought of Anael. _Who gives us this ‘duty’?_

Instead of going to the temple, Castiel packed a small bag of his belongings, tossing in as much of Gabriel’s research as he could. He’d need as many clues as he could find to get to the Void and find this ‘Sam.’ The final thing he grabbed was the amulet, fastening it around his neck. For a moment, he thought it glowed. He blinked, and it was back to its smooth bronze; the glistening must have been a trick of the light.

Outside his _nava_ , his _aushath_ stretched wide, wider than they ever had before, and he flew up; beyond his post, beyond the atmosphere, the mesosphere, and almost to the stratosphere. There, he hovered, looking down at Malaket, its two suns making his brethren’s _navas_ gleam like jewels.

Castiel closed his eyes and blinked out of existence.


	4. Wanted Dead or Alive (Dean POV)

Sam probably thought he was being sneaky by choosing the Planead System for their meeting place. Dean knew better. The place was rife with memories.

John Winchester had made frequent stops there when the brothers were young, before they followed in his footsteps of smuggling and whatever merc work came their way. Before he’d left them high and dry with nothing but the Impala to their names.

The Planead System was as good a place as any to someone who had never had a home.

Sam had asked Dean to meet him on Itheost, the smallest planet in the system. They had spent two weeks there one year, doing odd jobs and pick-pocketing—anything to get enough money for John’s bail.

The bar was dim and crowded; it was the kind of place where he wouldn’t be recognized. Dean let the condensation from the drink in his hand slip over his fingers. It was cold, too cold, but he needed the reminder. He was here _now_ , not then, and he was different. Everything was different.

He eventually took a sip of the bitter liquor. It was disgusting, but so were most things on Itheost. You got used to it.

“You still show up early, huh?”

Dean resisted the urge to sit up straighter. “You still suck at surprising people,” he said, not turning around.

“There’s no way you heard me coming,” said Sam as he came into view and sat opposite him at the old metal table.

Dean let a smile tug at his lips. “It’s, uh...good to see you.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. You too.”

“You want something to drink? My treat.”

“No, that’s okay. I, um...gave that up.”

Dean looked down at the liquor in his hand. “What, you’re trying to be healthy now?”

“Dean, c’mon. You know why.” Sam paused. “And it’s healthful.”

Silence fell between them as Dean took another sip. He looked everywhere but at his younger brother when he finally replied. “So the cargo?”

Sam perked up. “Yes. It’s important, Dean. I need you to promise that you’ll take this seriously.”

“When have I not taken work seriously?”

Sam licked his lips, an old nervous habit. “It’s just...I don’t know, things change, okay? But this job? It’s important to me. And to a lot of other people. Just promise.”

“Do I get the privilege of knowing what the cargo is before I promise?” Dean asked. He had meant it sarcastically, but Sam looked over his shoulder and gestured at someone.

“Don’t freak out,” Sam whispered.

“Why would I—” Dean stopped when he saw the man his brother had waved over the table. “Who the hell is this?”

“This is the cargo,” Sam said, like it was the most normal thing in the world for a person to be cargo.

“I hate to break it to ya, Sammy, but Baby isn’t in the business of taxiing people around the galaxy.”

The stranger sat down, turning to gaze on Dean, and the words died in Dean’s mouth. His breath caught. He’d never seen a Malak up close before. Blue eyes were the thing of fairy tales. He glanced at the Malak’s back, hoping for a glimpse of the legendary _aushath_.

“You won’t be able to see them that way,” the Malak said.

“What? Sorry,” Dean backtracked. “I wasn’t—”

“It’s all right, Dean Winchester. Humans are known for their curious nature.”

Dean blinked at the use of his full name before remembering that Sam was in business with the Malak and had probably told him a thing or two.

He was about to reply when he felt a warm tingling in his hand—not the irritating kind that happened sometimes when he’d fallen asleep in the wrong position or when he’d been still for far too long. This was different; pleasant, even. Like the strong, unexpected shiver at the end of an orgasm, or maybe the strange satisfaction of a cold breeze on a hot day.

Dean stared at his fingers for a second, trying to shake off the feeling. Was the Malak putting a spell on him? He could hear Sam saying something, but it was low, faded, unimportant. He raised his eyes to the Malak’s own hands, and saw the left one, gloved and clenched in a fist.

“Dean!”

“Right,” he said. “Sorry. Um. It’s been a long day. What can I do you for?”

“Dean, this is Castiel. We need to get him somewhere quickly and quietly,” Sam said.

“I’m sorry,” Dean laughed. “Did you say Castiel? As in…” he lowered his voice, “the leader of the fucking rebellion?”

“I would prefer to keep that information quiet, if it isn’t too much of an inconvenience for you,” said Castiel.

“It won’t be an inconvenience at all, because I’m not helping you.”

“Dean, c’mon,” Sam urged, leaning over the table.

“Probably don’t wanna do that,” Dean nodded toward where Sam’s jacket touched the metal surface. “Don’t know when they cleaned this place last.”

“Dean, this isn’t a joke. Castiel needs to get back to base, and soon.”

“Are you really involved with that shit now? I didn’t think you were the type,” Dean downed what remained of his liquor. It burned all the way down, not unlike the thought of Sam willfully endangering his own life.

Castiel turned to Sam. “Is your brother loyal to another party?”

“Listen, Malak, I ain’t loyal to anybody except myself and my crew, all right?”

“My brother,” Sam interrupted, “is neutral.”

Castiel’s blue eyes found Dean again, piercing. “You have no side?”

Dean shrugged. “Makes no difference to me who’s in charge, Hel or otherwise. My job won’t change, and nothing else will, either. Why risk my skin? Wars only end badly.”

“You’re joking, right?” Sam glared. “You risk your skin every damn day, just like Dad did.”

“Don’t you mention him to me,” Dean hissed, gripping the empty glass until he thought it might shatter. “I’m not him.”

“Quiet,” Castiel raised a gloved hand, his face turned toward the door. “Someone is—”

A window shattered and Dean reached over to shove Sam down. “Caedes,” the Malak muttered somewhere behind him, and Dean cursed.

The Hel Empire only sent their most skilled after their most wanted. “This is your fault,” Dean hissed at the stranger as he drew his blaster, leveling it at the window.

The screams and shouts of the bar’s patrons filled the rancid air as caedes appeared from every entrance.

“There’s five inside,” came Sam’s voice from behind one of the chairs.

Dean shot at the caed in his sights, and the assassin went down with a single bullet in his chest. “Four,” he corrected.

Sam grabbed the chair he’d hidden behind and hurled it at the caed nearest him, hitting her square in the face. “We gotta get out of here. There will be more coming.”

Before the words had even left his brother’s mouth, Dean spotted an entire group through the door, advancing quickly, their eyes trained on Castiel.

Dean was a fantastic shot and a decent fighter, but he’d never faced a group that large. Adrenaline spiked in his veins, and he checked the charges on his blaster. “You good to go?” he asked Sam. His brother drew his own blaster, and Dean recognized the weapon. He’d given it to Sam for his eighteenth birthday.

“I’m good,” Sam replied, dodging a thrown knife. He shot two caedes in quick succession.

Behind them, the leader of the rebellion disposing of caedes down on his own, using nothing but his hands. In his peripheral vision, Dean could see Castiel whirling, his long tan coat a blur of pale fabric. The Malak could apparently pack a good punch, but was also knocking assassins to the ground with the light touch of a hand. _How does he do that?_

Distracted by Castiel’s strange fighting, Dean didn’t see the caed come up behind him. The blaster was kicked from his hand, and Dean went down in a tangle of limbs. The caed drew a long knife and in a flash it was against Dean’s throat, the blade nicking his skin. Dean’s muscles burned as he tried to hold the caed off, his hands suddenly slick with sweat. The assassin grinned. One slice, and he’d be dead.

The smile slipped from the caed’s face as his skin began to glow brightly. His hold on Dean weakened and he cried out in anguish before disintegrating into dust.

Dean sat up immediately, spitting caed ash out of his mouth. A hand appeared in front of him. He looked up at Castiel, whose face was somber and concerned. “Thanks for, you know…” Dean gestured vaguely before taking the proffered hand. “Who wears gloves these days, anyway?”

Castiel gave him a sad smile, one that was completely out of place in the chaos around them.

“Uh, guys, we don’t really have time to chit chat,” Sam said. “If we’re gonna get out of here, we’ve gotta do it now!”

Dean glanced around. Sure enough, the remaining caedes were fighting with the tougher patrons who’d gotten in their path, either by a sheer lack of good luck or an effect of drinking too much.

“Let’s go.”

They slipped out one of the broken windows, Dean praying that they wouldn’t be noticed. The pair followed him wordlessly to the Impala, where he knocked on the door for Jess to open the hatch. Sam and Dean both scanned the perimeter before slipping inside. Luckily, the citizens were used to far worse violence and weren’t so much as blinking at the din inside the bar, or at the bodies of dead caedes.

Dean closed the hatch behind him and took a good look at the Malak. “Just this once,” he said. “You got that? It doesn’t mean I’m joining your rebellion.”

Sam grinned, and Castiel nodded in what Dean assumed was thanks. “Understood.”

“So where’s this super-secret base of yours?”


	5. Starman Waiting in the Sky (Castiel POV)

When Castiel blinked back into existence, he was orbiting the outer spheres of the Qu’sar system. He dove toward the planet’s atmosphere, uncertain of the sustainability of the mesosphere. It was unlikely that it was as habitable to a Malak as his own planet. He hovered near a cloud that was the shape of a tree, taking in greedy gulps of air. He could almost hear Gabriel’s mocking voice: _-Well it’s about time you broke in those wings.-_ Castiel told Gabriel-in-his-mind to be helpful or be quiet, to which his imagined brother snarkily replied that Castiel wouldn’t have known to begin in Qu’sar if it weren’t for his research.

Castiel reluctantly agreed.

After a few gulps, he could feel his respiratory system adjusting to the difference in atmospheric pressure. Having never left Malaket before, he had often wondered how his brethren were able to travel to anywhere in the galaxy without much problem. He decided that it must be one of the many, many secrets that the Elders kept for the protection of their species.

Qu’sar was a largely uninhabited planetary system; from what Castiel had heard from Gabriel—none of his other brethren would deign to visit such a place—only ‘crooks, thieves, and whores’ went to Qu’sar. Or, more specifically, Shred’s.

Castiel drifted in the planet’s mesosphere while waiting for an indication of Shred’s location. It didn’t take long for a spacecraft to descend from orbit. It was a small craft, a class 3, only large enough for maybe ten crew members. Castiel found it fairly easy to follow to a large station orbiting Qu’sar.

The spacecraft came to a shuddering halt at one of the loading docks. Castiel landed just behind it, taking special care to tuck his _aushath_ close to his body. He felt them folding into his skin, and if anyone were to look closely, they would see intricate tattoos in the same shape as the _aushath_ on Castiel’s flesh. The cargo hatch lowered, and a form—likely feminine—emerged. A Crinis. Gabriel had described, in unnecessary detail, his amorous exploits with a female Crinis named Kali. This Crinis seemed more pleasant than the one Gabriel had described, however, as she chattered into her communicator, laughter punctuating her sentences.

The Crinis interested him, so he followed her after hearing her say “Shred’s” into her device.  

She walked slow enough that Castiel could get a good look at the space station, which was really little more than a large platform with a variety of shoddily constructed buildings. The station was the kind of place where one could go to disappear, as Castiel had often heard from Gabriel. It wasn’t overly crowded; he saw a few merchants selling wares from the cargo holds of their small spacecraft, making Castiel doubt the legality of such vending. He passed by one merchant who proudly display “oshath feathers.” He thought about stopping to tell the merchant that a Malak’s _aushath_ didn’t have feathers, but then he spied the Crinis stepping through a door under a rusted sign proclaiming it as “Shred’s.”

The tavern was swarming with patrons; all the tables were occupied and Castiel barely found room to squeeze into by the bar. The bartender, a towering behemoth Golith with more hair on his face than Castiel probably had on his entire body, rumbled, “New here?”

“I am a visitor, yes.”

The Golith nodded. “Specialty drink is a strong ethyl with a twist of zahain blood.”

The drink did not appeal to Castiel’s tastes, but he ordered one anyway, figuring that the patrons of Shred’s would be unlikely to talk to anyone without a drink in their hand. Or tentacle, thought Castiel, as he eyed the Jurgon at the other end of the bar. He hoped that at least one being in the tavern would remember Gabriel, so he would have a clue where to continue his search.

The bartender circled back around a few minutes later and Castiel asked about his brother. “Oh, about this tall?” The Golith gestured to approximately his shoulder height, which was being rather generous to Gabriel, in Castiel’s opinion.

“Yes,” Castiel said. “When was the last time you saw my brother?”

The Golith shook his head. “Haven’t seen him in at least four months.”

Four months ago was when his brethren had left with the envoy to the Hel Empire. Had Gabriel ever made it that far? Had he abandoned their mission early?

A man sidled up next to Castiel, too close for comfort and reeking of zahain blood and something oily that Castiel couldn’t quite place. “Overheard you,” the man said in lieu of an introduction. Castiel faced him, and the man had an air of self-importance. The man signaled the bartender for two more drinks, and slid one over to Castiel. Disguising his disgust, Castiel took another sip of his own drink. It hadn’t improved over the past ten minutes.

“So,” the man said. “You’re looking for someone.” It was a statement, not a question, and Castiel did not approve of the way the man’s eyes slithered over him.

“I am searching for my brother,” Castiel replied.

The man grinned, but it wasn’t a pleasant look. He bared his teeth like a predator. “I’m in the business of finding things,” he said. “For the right price.”

Castiel did not like the look of this man, but he knew he’d need help if he had any hope of finding Gabriel. “What price would you name?”

The man licked his lips. Castiel bit back the bile that burned his throat. “I’m sure we could arrange a _profitable_ situation for both of us,” the man purred. He leaned closer to Castiel, and the stench of him burned Castiel’s nostrils. “My, but you have pretty eyes.”

The Golith slid up to them again, placing a steaming mug of tea in front of Castiel. “I did not order this drink,” Castiel protested.

The bartender shrugged. “Tall man in the corner ordered for you.”

Castiel’s gaze shifted to the corner of the tavern. A tall man with hair like a Malaket second sunset stood next to the Crinis that Castiel had followed earlier. The tall man raised his glass in greeting, and the man standing next to Castiel bristled. “ _Winchester_ ,” he growled.

Castiel ignored him and raised his mug to the tall man, who strode over, his steps strong and confident and a little bow-legged, Castiel noticed. The tall man stood right between Castiel and the other man. “Hello,” the tall man said with a smile. “I’m Dean Winchester, captain of the Impala.” Dean Winchester’s eyes were the same shade of green as the sweet-smelling fields of Malaket grass that grew beyond his _nava_. It comforted Castiel.

The first man frowned. “Winchester, I think you’ll find that he and I were talking _business_.”

Dean Winchester laughed. “I’m sure you were, _Dick_. But I doubt you impressed him with the girth of your conversation. Besides, why talk business when you could talk pleasure instead?” He winked at Castiel. The Malak’s cheeks burned.

The man, Dick, huffed. “What would _you_ know about pleasure, Winchester?”

“A lot more than you, Dick. A lot more than you.” Dean stood a little firmer, put a little more space between Castiel and Dick. “Anyway, _Dick_ , you came—a little early, as usual—and now it’s time for you to leave.”

Dick glared at them, until Dean added, “Do you _want_ me to start telling people about Solaris? Because, you know, I’m pretty sure that your prospective jobs are gonna _love_ that you pull out before getting the payload, if you catch my drift.”

With one last glare, Dick left them alone. Castiel wasn’t sorry to see him leave. “Sorry about him,” said Dean. “That guy gives me the creeps. Real oozy skeezeball type.”

Castiel wasn’t certain that they were speaking the same language any longer.

“Thank you. For the beverage,” Castiel managed. “This one is much more to my tastes.”

Dean smiled, but not in a way that made Castiel feel uncomfortable. It made him feel something that Castiel couldn’t define. “I’ll buy you another one, if you like it so much,” Dean said. “But first, can I know your name?”

“Castiel.”

“Cass-tee-ell? Odd, but kinda nice. Like your eyes,” he said with a wink.

Castiel snorted. “Your friend also complimented my eyes.”

“Whoa? _Dick_ ? Dick Roman? Not my friend. And your eyes? Never seen a damn thing like them, and I’ve been all over the galaxy. But my friend over there? The hot blue one?” He stopped to wave at the Crinis, who made a very rude hand gesture in return. “She’s seen eyes like yours. Says they’re real _special_.”

Something about Dean’s words sounded like a warning. “It—it is a family trait,” Castiel said. “My brethren and I—all of our eyes are like this.”

Dean ordered another drink from the bartender with the flick of his fingers. “Look: you don’t know me, and I don’t know you—even though I’d like to—but you should be careful. Eyes like yours will draw attention, and people like Dick aren’t really the helping kind.”

“So are you the helping kind?” Castiel hadn’t met many humans before, and from what Naomi and the other Elders had indicated, humanity was greedy, egocentric, and infantile.

“Sure, I’ll help you with anything you want if you pay me, Cas.”

Cas. The syllable rolled off Dean’s tongue.

“I am searching for my brother,” Castiel said. “Could you help me find him?”

“What’s his name?”

“Gabriel.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Dean muttered into his drink. He motioned to the Crinis. “Jess over there? Her sister and your brother had a thing. If anyone could help find your brother, it would be her.”

Castiel glanced skeptically at the man, who he was beginning to understand was a “merc” by trade. He had no reason to trust the stranger, but he also had no other leads on Gabriel’s location. “What is your price to take me to see the Crinis’ sister?”

Dean thought for a minute. “10,000 credits, but 7,500 if you are a good cook,” he joked with a cocky smile.

Castiel frowned. That was a large sum, but he could afford it. “I’ll transfer 10,000 credits. Where can I find you?”

“Berth 23. The Impala. You can’t miss her.” He leaned close to Castiel, “See you soon, _angel_.”


	6. Simple Man (Dean's POV)

“I don’t like it.”

Bobby huffed in reply to Dean’s complaint.

“C’mon Bobby, don’t tell me it doesn’t rub you the wrong way just a tiny bit.”

The older mechanic’s head popped up from the metal grate on the floor. “Pass me the wrench, wouldja?”

“Bobby.”

“What do you want me to say? I don’t know why or how he does it, but it’s not like we can do anything about it.”

Dean passed Bobby the wrench, not feeling any better about anything. It had only been 24 hours since Sam and Castiel had boarded the Impala, and Dean was ready to throttle the Malak. The leader of the rebellion seemed to know exactly how to push Dean’s buttons, starting with Baby.

“It just doesn’t make sense,” Dean muttered. “It took me years to master flying Baby, and then he shows up…”

It had started just moments after boarding. Wanting to get them as far away from the caedes as possible, Dean had asked for the coordinates to the Rebel base, only to be told that his request was impossible.

“Excuse me?” he’d asked the rebellion leader. “How the fuck do you expect us to get you anywhere if you don’t tell us where you need to go? Just give Jody the damn coordinates.”

“I said no. We have no need of them. I will fly the ship myself,” Castiel had announced.

Dean might have laughed, but the cockpit was feeling terribly overcrowded, and fuck, they’d just escaped the clutches of the Empire. “No one flies the Impala but yours truly, got it?” he’d said through his teeth.

Castiel had stepped closer to the pilot’s seat, his gloved hand extended toward the controls. “Do you think I cannot do it?”

“We don’t have time for this bullshit. Do you want my help, or don’t you?”

“I do need your help. But I also require a modicum of your trust. Is that something Dean Winchester cannot provide?” The Malak had tilted his head, something like regret ghosting over his mouth.

A thread tugged at Dean’s conscious, and he sighed. “Try your luck, then,” he’d said, for the hell of it.

Castiel had. And did. And Baby, that traitor, was flying beautifully for him.

What was worse, everyone on board seemed to take to the creature instantly. But Dean didn’t mention that bit.

“You just don’t like him,” accused Bobby gruffly, his voice floating up through the grate. “But it’s a job like any other, and we’ve dealt with worse, right?”

“Damn right I don’t like him. Isn’t that what I’ve been saying this whole time?” Dean threw his hands into the air.

Bobby’s face appeared again. “Huh? Do you want this backup regulator fixed or not, Dean? Now hand me a screwdriver and leave me alone.”

Dean kicked the screwdriver over. “Grumpy old man.”

“Look in the mirror, boy. Now git.”

As Dean closed the engine room door, he felt a presence over his shoulder. “Don’t _do_ that!” he snapped, turning to the Malak. “What do you want?”

“Dean, I have the distinct impression that you don’t appreciate my presence here. However, it is a long journey to the Base, and we must be in each other’s company.” Castiel was inches away, but seemed completely undisturbed by the lack of personal space.

Dean took a deep breath and unclenched his jaw. “Did you—”

“Yes, the ship is on autopilot for the next thirty minutes, and your Crinis has the con. I wanted to speak with you.”

Dean lifted a finger to Castiel’s face. “Her name is Jess, she’s not _mine_ , and if we end up hurtling into a black hole, so help me, I’ll end you myself.”

The Malak’s eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. “That would not be possible if we were in a black—”

“It’s an expression, okay? Now what do you want?”

“I…” Castiel paused. “I wanted to check on you.”

Dean met Castiel’s eyes, and took half a step away. Those eyes were too intense, too familiar. “I’m the captain, genius. I do the checking around here, got it?”

“I know there are things you don’t understand. I wish that I had the luxury of explaining them to you, but it isn’t the right time. I know you don’t like being left in the dark—”

Dean pushed past him, toward the Impala’s tiny mess hall. “You think you know a lot about me, huh?”

Castiel followed closely, his warmth somehow spreading through Dean’s thick jacket, and wrapping itself around his torso. Dean walked faster.

“I have spent quite a lot of time with your brother,” Castiel offered in explanation.

“Is that one of your superpowers? Absorbing information about complete strangers? I’ve heard stories about your kind, but that’s a new one.”

“I don’t have superpowers.”

“Sure you don’t,” Dean laughed dryly.

“If this is about your ship—”

Dean turned on his heel, nearly nose to nose with the creature who had turned his life upside down in a matter of hours. “You bet it’s about my ship, buddy. It’s the ship, and your war, and my brother. It’s all of it, okay? I didn’t want this.”

Castiel didn’t reply. Unspoken words of “I saved your life” hovered between them.

“There’s only one reason you’re here,” Dean concluded, his voice softening. “But once we drop you off, that’s it, okay?”

Castiel’s eyes crinkled at the corners.

Dean’s jaw clenched. _This would be a hell of alot easier if he weren’t so smokin_. “Something funny?”

“No, Dean. Merely remembering something from long ago. Do not worry. I will not pressure you to join our cause, nor will your brother. And we do appreciate your aid, more than you can ever know. You were the only one who could help me, and my situation is...dire.”

Dean realized that he could feel Castiel’s breath on his face, and created some distance between them yet again. “Your problem, not mine.”

Castiel nodded. “As you say.” He clasped his gloved hands in front of him, in a practiced gesture that looked like he was trying to seem more human. “Regardless, what I said was also true. We are in close quarters, and I do want you to be at ease. While I must control the flight pattern of this journey, perhaps you would feel more comfortable in the cockpit alongside me.”

Dean bit the inside of his cheek. He’d be lying if he said that hadn’t been the second thing to cross his mind after “fuck no, you can’t fly Baby.”

In fact, staying in the cockpit had been his intention until he realized that Jody, Jessica, and Claire all seemed taken with the stranger. The moment Castiel had sat in the captain’s chair and put his hands on the controls with such ease, the crew had been even more intrigued than before. It wasn’t jealousy or anger, but something deeper within Dean that had simmered confusingly. He’d fled the cockpit moments later, feeling Jess and Sam’s eyes on his back. He’d managed to avoid everyone except Bobby, until now.

Something prompted him to say yes to the Malak’s proposal, and before he could blink, Castiel’s hand was on his elbow and they were in the cockpit. “Shit, man,” Dean breathed. “How did you—”

“Holy crap!” Jess jumped out of her chair, her sarrahs flying back. Jody simply raised an arched eyebrow before turning back to her tablet.

Castiel let go of Dean and sat down in the captain’s chair, checking the lux settings and chatting with Jess. Dean swallowed down his pride and sat in the seat behind Castiel, watching Castiel’s movements carefully. His lingering feelings of resentment were slowly giving way to astonishment and admiration. He found his eyes roving over Castiel’s back again, subconsciously searching for the wings he remembered reading about as a child. Castiel had said that Dean would not be able to see them, but what was the harm in looking? And Castiel certainly wasn’t sore on the eyes.

It wasn’t lost on Dean that if he and Castiel had met under different circumstances—ones that didn’t involve seeing Sam again, or being chased by the Empire—he would have already propositioned the leader of the rebellion.

Dean shook the thoughts away, concentrating on the ease with which Castiel touched the controls. Did all Malakin know how to fly vessels? Why learn to control a class 4 ship when you had wings?

Castiel glanced at Dean over his shoulder. “Feel better.” It wasn’t a question.

Dean cleared his throat. “Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night, angel.”

“Angel?” Jess snickered, sitting sideways in her chair so that her legs dangled over the armrest. “Where did you get that?”

“Um...I dunno, it’s just slang, right?” Dean looked at Castiel, although he couldn’t say why.

Castiel ignored the question, his eyes on the screens before him. “Dean, we have a problem. Get your brother.”

Dean was out of his seat and hovering over Castiel’s shoulder. “What are those?”

The ships on the scanner weren’t like any he’d ever seen, and Dean had been chased by—and had out-flown—every vessel out there.

“Special class Hel fighters. They found us.”

Jody began typing furiously on her tablet. “We’re still in lux. How could they have followed us? That’s impossible.”

“Do not underestimate the lengths to which the Empire will go,” Castiel said. “Sam is in the mess hall.”

“On it,” Jess said, already out the door.

“If we drop out of lux right now, we can lose them,” Dean said, taking the first mate’s seat.

“That won’t work,” Castiel replied. “They are already locked onto our coordinates.”

“That technology doesn’t exist,” Jody insisted from behind Dean. “What you’re saying can’t happen. We’re in _lux_. We don’t have _coordinates_.”

“And yet…” Castiel gestured to the scanner.

“They found us?” Sam burst in, Jess on his heels.

“As we suspected,” Castiel confirmed.

“Woah, woah,” Dean turned to the Malak. “You _knew_ this would happen?”

“Not exactly, but as I said—the Empire is determined to find me and our base. We must throw them off now, or all is lost.”

“How close are they?” Sam asked Castiel.

“Close enough. You’ll find their captain on the bridge of the first ship.”

Sam closed his eyes, bracing his hands on the back of the captain’s chair. He frowned, his face contorting as though he were in pain.

That pesky older-brother concern that Dean had never been able to fully displace tightened in his  chest. “Sammy, are you okay?” When Sam didn’t reply, Dean looked at Castiel. “What are you making him do?” he accused.

Instead of flipping switches left and right and trying to evade the strange ships, Castiel was sitting calmly, his own vibrant blue eyes hidden. “Nothing, Dean. Let him work.” The Malak’s brow was as smooth as Sam’s was worried. “There, Sam!”

Sam took a few deep gulps of air and began muttering under his breath in a language Dean didn’t recognize. He repeated the words again, louder, before opening his eyes. “Did it work?” he asked Castiel.

“What did you do?” Dean interrupted, standing up. His hands ached to rest on his brother’s shoulders, to check him for harm or injury, like he would have done when they were kids.

Sam’s familiar brown eyes looked down into Dean’s. “I told them we were not the ship they wanted. The Empire obviously didn’t send their strongest minds to follow us.”

“They’re leaving,” Jess confirmed. “Look.”

Dean glanced at the scanners. The ships had disappeared, dropping out of lux. The Impala was alone, hurtling at the speed of light. “What aren’t you telling me?” he asked.

Castiel stood, rubbing absentmindedly at his left hand with his right. The leather of his gloves swished together, a soft calming sound. “There’s a reason the Empire wants me, Dean. And it isn’t because of the rebellion.” He paused, making eye contact with every person in the cockpit before continuing. “I’m a threat to the universe as we know it.”


	7. Eye of the Tiger (Castiel POV)

Berth 23 happened to be holding the same spacecraft that Castiel had followed to port. Looking at it more closely, he saw that the hull, in spite of being a few decades old, was immaculately maintained, the paint a gleaming black like the purest onyx. The call sign was painted above the landing mechanism. “K-A-Z-2-Y-5,” Castiel committed it to memory.

He was a little nervous to board the ship. He had never been around humans for any extended period of time, and he didn’t really know how to interact with anyone who was not Malakin. His determination to find Gabriel outweighed his hesitance, and he pointedly ignored the Gabriel voice in his mind that said: _Oh I’m sure the handsome, charming captain has nothing to do with it._

As he approached the ship, the cargo-bay doors opened, revealing Dean Winchester and another, older, human male. The other man wore a beard that reminded Castiel of the prickly plants that grew near the Elders’ temple.

“Hello,” Castiel greeted them.

“Hiya Cas. This is the Impala,” Dean said, his face beaming with pride. “This is Bobby.” Dean gestured to the other man. “He’s our mechanic, and the best damn one in the galaxy too.”

Bobby grumbled something under his breath, but extended his hand to Castiel in greeting. “Pleased to meet ya.” His voice rumbled like an old motor.

“Likewise,” Castiel replied.

“So Dean came back to the ship all twitterpated after he met you. He made it sound like you’re the reason the sun comes up everyday. Kinda impressive, considering he spent all of ten minutes with you.” Bobby’s voice was so monotone that Castiel could not discern if the man were joking.

Dean’s cheeks colored. “Don’t listen to him Cas; he’s just teasing.”

“Whatever you say, boy, but you were the one waxing eloquent about the blue of his eyes.”

The three slipped into silence, and the seconds ticked away until Bobby cleared his throat and said, “Well, you two idjits just keep dancing ‘round each other, but I got work to do.”

Dean looked a little embarrassed, a pale pink lingering on his cheekbones, though Castiel could not understand the other man’s discomfort. The captain rubbed his hand along the back of his neck. “Well, I guess I should show you around.”

“That would be agreeable.”

Castiel had not been on many spacecraft; the Malakin had no need for them and it was rare to see a foreign vessel in Malaket’s airspace. He wasn’t sure what he had expected from a class-4 merchant vessel, but stepping into the the bridge and feeling so _at home_ wasn’t it. The Impala was not, as Gabriel would say, a “spring chicken”—though Castiel had no reckoning of what a chicken was—but the interior was as immaculately maintained as the exterior. “So this is where the magic happens,” Dean purred.

Castiel had a horrible suspicion that Gabriel and Dean would be able to spend many hours exchanging the kind of bawdy jokes that his brother preferred. He inwardly shuddered when he thought of their inevitable meeting.

Dean plopped into the captain’s chair as if he had been born in it. For all Castiel knew, he might have. “This is where I sit,” Dean stated the obvious. “This is probably where you’ll find me 90% of the time.”

“And the other 10%?”

“I’ll be in my bunk. Yours is across the hall. Perks of being a guest; you’re near the captain. So if you need anything, I’ll, uh, be close by.”

Castiel was prevented from replying when the controls lit up and Jess’ voice sounded on the intercom. “Boss, looks like we have some phallic trouble headed our way. You might want to hold off on giving your new boy the complete tour of your _cock_ pit.” Dean swore in a few languages as he flicked on the exterior monitor.

Dick Roman and two very large Gorlith approached the Impala from the bay loading area, each carrying an intimidating amount of weaponry. Dean swore again, but quickly regained composure. He switched on the in-flight comms. “Ladies, gentlemen, and non-human, non-binaries, this is your captain speaking. In order to avoid the largest douchebag in the galaxy, we will be taking off immediately. Please hold onto something, and do mind your heads and try not to die.” He flicked the comm off, and then his fingers flew over the control panel, readying the Impala for lift off.

“Are you not supposed to notify station authorities before departure?”

“Yeah, well, did you see the size of their guns?”

Castiel shut his mouth and let Dean perform his duty. Within seconds, the Impala lurched in the air, the metal hull groaning in resistance to the sudden movement. Castiel quietly sunk into the co-pilot’s seat. If Dean was at least half as concerned as he looked about Dick Roman, then Castiel would have to do something that would definitely not be approved by Naomi or the rest of the Malakin Elders.

He closed his eyes, and letting his awareness slip out of his body was just as easy as it was back on Malaket. Gabriel had been right; his abilities were not limited to the planet of Malaket. It was not difficult to locate Dick Roman and his compatriots’ minds—all three were burning hot with rage and envy. The two Gorliths—who were firing their weapons at the Impala with astounding imprecision—had no mental resistance. With a thought, they were unconscious, and all memory they had of the Impala, erased.

Dick Roman, however, required more skill. His mind was like the wall surrounding Malaket’s singular prison—not easily broken into. The more Castiel pressed, the more the man resisted. Castiel eased up on a frontal mental onslaught and drifted to the edge’s of Roman’s consciousness. The man was less guarded there, and Castiel slipped in with an innocuous memory of a lunch on D’lund. As Castiel sifted through the man’s most recent memories, he saw flashes of blonde hair and gut-wrenching screams for mercy. He saw a girl, broken, beaten, and tortured at Dick Roman’s hands. Castiel yanked himself from the abuser’s mind, tearing out the man’s most recent memories in the process. It may have caused irreparable damage. Castiel did not care if it did or not.

Castiel merged his consciousness with his body again, and lurched forward with a gasping breath. Dean looked up from the controls, alarmed by Castiel’s sudden movement. “Cas?” he asked.

Castiel couldn’t answer for want of breath.

“Cas?” Dean repeated. “Man, you alright?”

The girl’s screams echoed in Castiel’s mind, reverberating nightmares. “We must find Dick Roman’s ship.”

Dean looked unpersuaded until Castiel leaned toward him, placing his right hand on Dean’s left shoulder. He caught Dean’s eyes with his and said, “ _Trust me_.”

“No...did you see their guns? We’re getting out of here.”

“Dean, there’s a captive. He’s torturing her,” Castiel pleaded.

Dean swore. “You sure?”

“ _Yes_.”

The captain nodded, his eyes never leaving Castiel’s, and he flicked on the in-flight comms. “Captain here, looks like we’re making one last stop before we leave this space behind us for good. Sit tight, everyone, but, uh, keep something nearby that could be used as a weapon. Just in case.”  Dean turned the Impala toward the far side of the space station, and within seconds, a large, hulking, spacecraft came into view, the word “Leviathan” painted on its side in intimidating font. “Now what?” asked Dean.

“I must go on board,” Castiel responded.

Dean sighed, and unbuckled his safety restraints. “I knew you were gonna say that.”

“I do not require assistance.”

“Do _you_ know how to disengage the ignition system on a Class 3 combat vessel? No? Didn’t think so.” He stood and headed to the rear of the bridge. “C’mon, angel.”

Castiel hesitated. He knew that his _aushath_ could get them both to the Leviathan and back safely, but he was torn between his instinct and following the Elders’ guidelines— _no mortal must ever learn of the true powers of the aushath_ , Naomi had once told him. _We would be hunted for them_. The need for expediency won, and though Castiel knew that he had few reasons to trust Dean Winchester so early in their acquaintance, he found that he did, that he had since almost the moment they met. “There is another way,” Castiel said, the words coming out rushed.

Dean turned, lazily arching one brow over the green eyes that were quickly becoming a weakness for Castiel. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yes.” Castiel offered his hand, and when Dean took it, he unfurled his _aushath_. Before he could register the shocked look on Dean’s face, they were on board the Leviathan.

“ _What the intergalactic fuck?”_ Dean all but yelled. “Warn a guy before you zap him somewhere!”

“Go find the engine room. We have little time to spare.” Castiel paused. “I will answer all your questions at another time, but I assure you, time is of the essence right now.”

Dean, for once, did not argue. He squeezed Castiel’s hand once before disappearing down a hallway. Castiel extended his consciousness to seek out any lifeforms on board the Leviathan. _One on the bridge. One in the engine room. One in the crew’s quarters, and that one was weaker than the others._

The interior of the Leviathan did not feel as comfortable as the Impala. Its floors, its walls, shone in cold steel completely devoid of the personality of the Impala and its crew. The further Castiel moved into the ship, the more it felt like a prison.

He felt the presence of the weakened soul inside something that was little more than a supply closet. He slid the heavy metal door open, the stench of urine and vomit assaulting his senses as he did so. The room was cramped, even though there was no furniture it. Huddled in a corner on torn and dirtied blankets, a girl blinked her eyes open, one of them so swollen that Castiel flinched at the sight of it. She mumbled, “Who’re you?”

“I am Castiel.”

She shuffled, groaning in pain as she sat up. Castiel could see bruises like fingerprints on her throat. He blonde hair was matted and tangled. She mumbled again. “Whaddya want?” Her voice carried a tremor of fear.

“I want to help you,” Castiel told her. He moved toward her slowly. His _aushath_ ruffled and he saw her eyes go to them.

“You’re...you’re…”

“I am from Malaket.”

“My mother told me about Malaket,” the girl whispered. “She called you angels.”

Castiel knelt down in front of the girl. She looked less afraid now, and more curious. She was older than Castiel would have first guessed, but still not a woman. Probably no more than seventeen years of age. “What is your name?”

“Claire.”

“Claire, will you allow me to help you?”

The girl nodded. Castiel helped her to her feet, but when he saw the cut and torn flesh on her toes and heels, he elected to carry her. She winced at the pressure of his arms on her bruised skin, but she didn’t complain. He moved quickly back through the Leviathan, to where he had left Dean. The Impala’s captain was leaning against a doorway, disinterest painted on his face. Castiel would have sworn that the man hadn’t moved at all if it weren’t for the glint of blood on Dean’s lower lip.

“Is she why we came?” the captain asked.

Castiel nodded. Dean moved in and took a closer look at Claire. Dean swore when he saw the girl’s bruises. “That fucking _monster_. I’ll _kill him_.” Dean’s voice shook with rage, and Castiel _knew_ that he meant every word. Dean’s hands were clenching, as if bracing for a fight.

“Grab my arm,” Castiel told him. He tried to sound authoritative and urgent. “We must go.” He could feel Dick Roman’s impending return to his vessel, the man’s boiling wrath broadcasting loud and clear. “ _Now_ ,” Castiel insisted.

Dean looked torn, but he grabbed Castiel’s arm, and in a second, they were back on board the Impala. Jess, who was sitting in the captain’s chair, jumped up, screeching, “What the _fuck_!” when the three of them suddenly appeared on the bridge.

“Jess, take the girl to my quarters,” Dean barked. He pushed past her to the controls and readied the Impala for take-off. Again.

Claire’s arms tightened around Castiel. He could sense her hesitancy to be in a strange man’s room. Jess, more perceptive than Castiel would have guessed, offered to take Claire’s to hers instead. “I’ve got plenty of room, and it’ll be like having my sister back.”

Castiel carried Claire to Jess’s room, and stayed next to her, humming softly and projecting images of comfort and kindness into her mind until the girl fell asleep. When Claire had entered a deep state of unconsciousness, he placed his hand on her forehead, pulling his _aushath_ close to him. He drew in a deep breath. He’d only heard about this done in theory, after long battles on Malaket long ago before they had achieved their tentative peace with the Hel Empire. Even then, it had never been performed by a Guardian--only Elders and the Eldest, like Gabriel, were thought to have the skill. Yet Gabriel’s words came unbidden, though this time they were not unwelcome.

 _In each of us, Cassie, there is a light, the nayrah. Mortals have something like it called a ‘soul.’ The nayrah is the essence of who we are as Malakin, and when we care about someone deeply, we can heal wounds, we can protect each other, but above all things we can share ourselves. It’s who we are, Cassie. We_ **_are_ ** _our nayrah._

Behind closed eyes, Castiel pictured his light. It was small, but it burned so fiercely that he almost couldn’t bear to look at it. He tugged at it, urging  it to come closer. It resisted, but then Castiel thought of Claire’s fragile and broken body, and the light came to him willingly. He channeled that light into Claire, stitching back together her beaten and bruised flesh.

From somewhere behind him, someone sucked in a breath as Claire’s bruises disappeared and her cuts closed. “How did you _do_ that?” Jess asked. She moved in, inspecting Claire’s skin. Her brow was furrowed with concern for the girl. “Will she be okay now?”

“I have mended everything in her physical body,” Castiel replied. “I can do nothing for the conditions which are not physical. Those...those will take much longer to heal.”

Claire slept, and Castiel was grateful that she looked peaceful. He was even more grateful when Jess promised to watch over her while she slept. Bone weary and depleted, he stumbled toward his quarters, falling face first into a bed.

He was too tired to notice his _aushath_ were still visible, and when the Impala’s captain later entered the room, Castiel did not waken. When Dean slid into the bed next to Castiel, his _aushath_ , however, curled around the man in a protective embrace.

Castiel awoke several hours later, disoriented, drained, and wondering why there was a warm body stretched out next to his own.

Dean Winchester seemed much softer asleep than he ever had awake. His lashes, dark against golden skin, fluttered. Castiel wondered what the man dreamt of, and eventually the soothing repetitiveness of Dean’s breath lulled him back to sleep. Castiel slipped back into unconsciousness with thoughts of golden skin framing Dean’s verdant eyes.

The next time Castiel awoke, Dean was awake and staring at Castiel’s _aushath_ , which were entirely stretched out and reaching toward the captain.

“You know,” Dean said, “Your bunk is across the hall.”

Castiel’s cheeks colored. “I apologize.” he said. “I was very tired and must have gone through the wrong door. You could have woken me.”

“Well, waking up next to you is no hardship.” His eyes drift to Castiel’s lips and linger there.

Castiel’s face grew very warm under the other man’s intense gaze. “It will not happen again,” Castiel said quickly. It came out harsher than intended, so he quickly added. “I apologize for invading your privacy.”

Dean just quirked an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing if it happened again,” he shrugged.

Castiel sat up, his _aushath_ stretching toward Dean. He looked away from the captain, embarrassed at the memory of his appendages intertwining so _intimately_ with the other man. It was a small mercy that Dean did not know just _how_ intimate the whole situation was for Malakin.

Gabriel-in-his-mind cackled and threatened to die from laughter.

Carefully, Castiel tucked in his resistant _aushath_ , ignoring the flabbergasted look on Dean’s face. He ignored him so completely that Castiel was unaware of Dean’s hands inching toward his back, where the outline of his _aushath_ was barely visible above the neckline of his white shirt, nothing more than tattoos now.

The brush of the man’s fingers against his skin sent sparks through him. The _aushath_ struggled against Castiel, wanting to react to Dean’s touch. The Malak jumped away, prompting Dean to back up quickly. “Woah, man, I’m sorry. I’m just curious.”

Castiel just nodded at Dean and fled, unwilling to acknowledge how much he wanted to do just the opposite.

* * *

 

Life on board the Impala was different from what Castiel had expected. While he could transport himself anywhere in the galaxy with scarcely more than a though, the crew of the Impala were bound to slower methods of transport. Since Kali was a guard to royalty, only Jess knew the planetary system where her sister lived. Dean reluctantly let her pilot the Impala to an unknown destination, grumbling about it every time he entered the bridge.

Castiel spent most of his time with Claire. The girl was remarkably resilient, and soon every crew member of the Impala stopped by to spend time with her. Even Dean, who Castiel avoided except for occasional encounters in the corridor. Castiel expected the captain to make lewd comments about their accidental bed sharing, but the man did no more than shoot the occasional smirk in his direction.

It was all very confusing, and it left Castiel wanting to find Gabriel as quickly as possible so that he could return to his _nava_ on Malaket.

Inside his mind, a voice that sounded like Gabriel insisted that going home would not be so simple, and that Castiel might even _miss_ the Impala and its swaggering, overconfident captain.

A full week after they had departed Qu’sar, Jess announced their arrival at Aliz over the ship’s coms. Whereas the past few days of their journey had seemed to be in slow motion, the crew’s excitement over their destination had spread like wildfire. If Castiel understood correctly, it was because no one, aside from Jess, had ever been allowed on the planet’s surface. The Queen of Moons, as Jess called her, had created a sanctuary for females from any planetary system who needed a safe place. It was only because of Jess that Dean and Castiel were being allowed to step onto the planet. Everyone else would have to wait aboard the Impala, which would remain in orbit.

Dean found Castiel in his quarters—not with Claire, for once—and handed him a blindfold.

“What is this?” Castiel asked.

“Part of the conditions that will allow us to meet with the queen,” Dean said. He slipped his own blindfold on first; Castiel elected to wait until Jess arrived to lead them. The Crinis led them from the Impala, and from their first step on Aliz, it took 2,634 more to reach the queen’s fortress. The room that Jess led them into was warm, but not hot; Castiel could hear the crackling of a fire off in one corner.

“Remove their blindfolds,” a soft voice commanded.

Castiel blinked in the dim light. The Queen, standing in front of them, was all reds and angles. She was shorter than both men by several inches, and though her lips were quirked slightly upward in a smile, her eyes were steel and likely stronger than the steel of a Malak’s blade. Even so, the Queen greeted Jess warmly and as a friend.

“It’s nice to see you again, _Your Majesty_ ,” Jess said.

The queen frowned. “Jess, it’s ‘Charlie’ to you. And to your friends,” she added, looking pointedly at Castiel and the captain.

Jess grinned. “I know.” She gestured to Castiel and Dean. “We need to speak to my sister. The Mal— _Castiel—_ has lost his brother. We think that Kali might know where he went.” Softer, Jess said, “ _It’s Gabriel._ ”

The Queen looked grim at that. “I think that Kali may be able to help, but I don’t think you are going like what she tells you.” Charlie beckoned over two women who had been standing guard at the door and asked them to show the men to the guest quarters. “You’ll have dinner with me,” she told them. “I’ll make sure Kali is there.” Dean and Castiel were blindfolded again and led away, Dean grumbling something about how it wasn’t a good way to treat a guest. Castiel understood; the blindfolds prevented them from learning the layout and defenses of the fortress, and that demonstrated the queen’s intelligence. A Malak, however, did not need to rely on eyesight.

The guest quarters, as it turned out, were the same shade of red as the queen’s hair. There was no color like it on Malaket, and a quiet voice inside of Castiel said that the color was something that would  always remind him of Charlie. Dean, of course, jumped on the bed as soon as they were left alone. “Well, looks like we’re sharing. Again.” Dean smirked but the smile faded as he glanced over at Castiel. “Or I could, uh, sleep on the floor.”

Castiel wondered why Dean was so considerate of him when all the bawdy tales he had heard from the Impala’s crew had a theme of Dean “hitting and quitting it.” So he did not respond, choosing to go in the attached washroom instead. He desperately wanted to stretch his _aushath_ but didn’t trust there not to be any prying eyes on a planet where he and Dean were the only men.

He splashed cool water on his face, and it seemed to rinse away the troublesome thoughts of Dean Winchester.

And then there was a knock on the door.

“Uh, Cas?”

_Cas?_

“There’s um some clothes for us,” Dean said through the door. “For dinner. Not that the clothes are what we’re gonna eat. Uh, you know what I mean.”

Castiel opened the door and Dean thrust a clean shirt and trousers into his hands. “I’ll, uh, just wait for you outside.”

The chosen outfit was blue, an uncommon color on this planet from what Castiel had seen. Castiel suspected that the queen knew much more about the Malakin than the average person in the galaxy, and Castiel was almost certain that this was because of Gabriel.

Why would Gabriel have revealed himself as a Malak? He knew that Gabriel was capable of disguising the color of his eyes if he chose to.

Shoving such thoughts aside, Castiel dressed quickly, not wanting to keep the queen waiting.

Dean stood just outside, wearing a shirt in the deepest shade of red that Castiel had ever seen. The color made Dean’s skin glow, the red brightening his natural tan. Dean, Castiel decided, was the very definition of what it meant to be alive.

“I, uh, like the blue,” Dean said. “It matches your eyes.”

Castiel nodded, unsure of how to respond. Fortunately, Jess arrived at that moment, another Crinis at her side. “Guys,” she said, “This is my sister, Kali.”

Kali looked rather unimpressed, but she greeted them both. She took Castiel by the hand, pulling him toward her until they were inches apart. Dean made a sound of protest but Kali waved off his concern. The Crinis searched Castiel’s eyes until she was satisfied with what she saw, loudly declaring him to be Gabriel’s brother.

“Well, now that’s settled—can we eat?” asked Jess.

The dining room was even more red than the guest rooms; in fact, the only thing not-red about the room was Castiel. “It’s a sign of respect,” Kali told him. “Gabriel is— _was—_ a good friend to Charlie.” She looked sad when she mentioned his brother’s name.

Later, after dinner had been served and Castiel was seated at the queen’s right hand, Dean across from him, Charlie dismissed the waiting staff and moved the conversation to the topic of Gabriel.

“I liked him, your brother,” Charlie said with a sad smile. “Gabriel was the only man to be allowed entry to Aliz until you two showed up. He had a wicked sense of humor. Loved a good prank.”

Castiel was stuck on the queen’s usage of past tense verbs. “What happened to my brother?”

Charlie looked at Kali. “He changed, Castiel,” Kali said. “I think you must have noticed too, whenever he was on Malaket.”

He remembered the state of Gabriel’s _nava_ , and the books and scrolls that did not make sense. “Yes,” he said, “Yes, Gabriel did change.”

Kali cleared her throat. “I hate to tell you this, Castiel, but Gabriel? He went into the Void.”


	8. Star Rider (Dean POV)

The bottle was empty.

Dean stared at it, swallowing the last bitter dregs from his glass. Good thing they were going to stop to refuel, because he needed another drink, and Jess had hidden his back-up bottle again.

He laid back against the pillows in his bunk, letting the alcohol sweep through his system; but its familiar numbing wasn’t as comforting as it usually was, and he cursed Castiel.

A knock sounded at his door, and he mumbled. “C’min.”

“A bit early in the day, isn’t it?” said Sam.

Dean cracked a smile. “It’s 5 o’clock somewhere in the galaxy, right?”

“Dean—”

“I only had two glasses, all right? I’m not even buzzed. Unfortunately.” He glanced at where his brother stood in the doorway. “Just because you gave up drinking doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t enjoy, does it?”

“Of course not. I…” Sam looked like he would rather be swallowed by a black hole than talk to Dean—not that Dean could blame him. He’d given both Castiel and Sam a good tongue-lashing after the incident with the Hel ships.

“What is it?” Dean tried to soften his tone. He hated that fucking puppy dog look.

“We’re in Yociore airspace, ready to land. Ellen radioed. She wants to meet up while we’re here.”

“Good.” Dean sat up, placing the empty glass on the table by his bed. “I’ll be there in a second.”

“Okay.” Sam hovered awkwardly before turning to leave.

“Sam,” Dean stopped him before he could think twice. “I um...didn’t really mean what I said earlier. In the cockpit. I was upset, you know that.”

Sam nodded without turning around, closing the door behind him. Dean sighed, and pulled his boots on.

* * *

 

While Sam wouldn’t look at Dean for more than 2 seconds at a time, Castiel wouldn’t _stop_ staring. Dean should have found it annoying, but was instead curious about what the Malak saw in him that was so interesting. Did they not have mercs where he came from? Or drunks? Or pissed off older brothers? As always, Dean defaulted to what he knew best.

“Like what you see?” he teased, winking at Castiel.

Castiel’s face flushed red, and he looked away. They were standing outside the Impala while Jess and Bobby negotiated with the Yociore refueling station to give them a bargain. Castiel looked completely out of place in the run-down station.

“Your defense mechanism is one regularly used by humans and other humanoid creatures when anger—”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Dean smiled wryly.

Castiel looked back at Dean, the redness in his cheeks replace by fire in his eyes. “I am not embarrassed, Dean Winchester. You are. You are embarrassed by the fact that a person in the galaxy whom you’ve never met knows how to fly your ship. You’re embarrassed by the fact that your brother still thinks of you in terms of your father, and you wish you’d never spoken to him the way you did to cause the rift between you. You’re embarrassed by the fact that although you wish to remain neutral in this conflict, you got yourself saddled with me. And above all, you wish that you didn’t find me so pleasing.”

Dean bit on his lower lip when he realized he didn’t have a comeback. What was worse, everything Castiel said was true.. “How the fuck do you know these things?”

“You called them superpowers just yesterday, did you not?”

“Listen here, angel—”

“Who are you calling angel, now?” came a familiar voice that immediately soothed Dean’s anxiety. He turned to see Ellen, the closest thing he’d ever had to a mother.

“Hey, there,” he said, letting her ruffle the short hair on his head. “Long time no see.”

She reached up to kiss his cheek, and he filed it away with his good memories. “How’s my boy? And who’s this?”

Castiel came closer. “A friend.”

“A job,” Dean clarified. “We’re dropping him off somewhere, and just came by for a pit stop.”

“No way,” Jo appeared from behind Ellen. She’d grown quite a bit since Dean had seen her last. No longer was Ellen’s daughter a scrawny kid with pigtails. He was about to tell her so when she pushed right past him to get a better look at the Malak.

“What’s your name?” she asked him, her eyes intent.

“Jo!” Ellen reprimanded, but her daughter waved the words away impatiently.

Castiel was studying her face. For what, Dean wasn’t entirely sure until Castiel glanced at him. Dean nodded. Ellen and Jo were good people—the best in the galaxy.

“My name,” he said, looking down at Jo’s eager face, “is Castiel.”

* * *

 

“There’s nothing to eat on this damn ship,” Dean muttered as he searched through Baby’s galley cupboards. Usually each member of the crew fended for themselves at their varied mealtimes; it had been some time since Dean had prepared food for anyone other than himself.

Then again, he hadn’t expected Ellen and Jo to tag along in their eagerness to know more about the Rebellion and its mysterious leader.

Memories of sooty black hands and a burnt dinner flashed before his eyes. He shoved it away as soon as John’s drunken stupor and Sam’s childlike face appeared.

“Need a hand?”

Dean nearly dropped the nutrient packets he’d just dug out of a drawer. “Don’t do that, Sam. Did you learn it from your special friend?”

“Sorry.” Sam’s hulking form entered the galley. “Ellen said you needed help, so…”

Pots, pans, and hydropods clattered on the counter, a jumble of antiques that Dean had inherited with the ship. “I don’t need your help.”

“Ellen said—”

“Ellen wants us to make up, dummy. Don’t you get it?”

Sam reached a hand out, perhaps thinking to put it on his brother’s shoulder before thinking better of it. “Dean, haven’t we—I dunno, I mean you’re helping us out and everything. I thought maybe all that other stuff was behind us now. It’s been so long.”

“Sam, I…” Dean paused, a pot half full of the contents of a protein packet. He stopped pouring to glance at his brother. How could he explain his conflicted emotions? Bitterness mingled with relief every time he looked at Sam’s face, heard Sam’s voice, recognized the familiar cadence of his step along the Impala’s halls. It was not a feeling Dean particularly enjoyed, although he was as familiar with it as he was with Baby.

“I already said I didn’t mean it, didn’t I?”

“I’m not talking about earlier, and you know it.”

“Then what do you want from me? I tried to be nice literally two hours ago, and you left my room without saying anything.”

“I left because _you’re_ still angry. You try so hard to act like you’re not pissed at me or at this whole situation, but I know you are. You’re still drinking when you’re angry, and don’t say it’s not true. Some things never change. But...why, Dean?” Sam threw his hands up in frustration. “Why did you agree to meet me in the first place if you feel this way?”

“Because you’re my fucking brother, okay? Am I pissed about a bunch of things? Sure I am.” Dean threw the packet onto the counter, ignoring the spill. “But you’re always gonna be my brother, got it? Now are you gonna help, or what?”

“I’m here aren’t I?”

“Fine.” Dean shoved another packet at his brother, not bothering to check its expiration date.

“Fine.” Sam read the label anyway. “Really, Dean? Don’t you have—”

“Rule one—”

Sam rolled his eyes, chanting in time with Dean. “—don’t talk shit on my food choices.” He paused. “I remember.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

Sam began to tinker with the food alongside Dean, falling into the familiar rhythm that Dean hated to admit he had missed. Despite the harsh words only moments before, they worked in tandem, an ignition coil and spark plug; push and pull. It had always been like that with them. Silence hung in the air, and it wasn’t as awkward as Dean had thought it might be, especially give their mutual outburst. But Sam, not one to let sleeping beasts lie, eventually cleared his throat.

“Listen. I _am_ sorry that I didn’t tell you about joining up. Or any of the rest of it. Shit, I’m even sorry for what I said all those years ago. But what I’m doing now...what _we’re_ doing is important. I know you don’t concern yourself with stuff like this, but it’s the future of the galaxy we’re talking about here, and...well, your help means a lot.”

Dean thought for a moment. “I concern myself with stuff that involves my family, got it? I don’t like it, but I’m here now, and I’m gonna stick it out. And I’m not gonna lie—I think your mind trick is fucking weird, but it got those ships off our ass, so...yeah, it’s fine. I mean, it’s not, but if that’s what you’re doing now, then...it’s all right I guess. As long as it’s not, I dunno...gonna make your head explode or something.”

Sam smiled, a large innocent grin that filled his entire face like a ray of light in a Torsus sunrise. He looked, for one glorious moment, like a kid who’d never had a day of misfortune in his life. Shame that wasn’t true. “No head explosions,” he assured. “Castiel says I have a gift.”

Dean huffed a rough chuckle and turned back to dinner. “Wanna sit in a charm circle and braid each other’s hair later?” he teased.

“Dean, my hair is _not_ that long.”

* * *

 

“We’ve been trying to find you,” Jo explained, for the millionth time, as the group ate together around the makeshift dinner table in the bay. “I want to join you.”

“And I do appreciate your enthusiasm,” Castiel replied. “But I fear you are too young to fight.”

Jo tossed her hair over her shoulder. “I’m 18. That’s old enough to enlist in the Empire’s army.”

“Unlike the Empire, we hold life to be sacred. We only spill blood when we must,” Castiel insisted.

“I think that life is sacred too,” Jo said, leaning over her plate of food as though she’d forgotten it was there. “That’s why I need to join! The Empire has been ravaging planets and slaughtering citizens in this mock democracy for long enough.”

“She’s right,” Ellen joined in. She glanced at Dean, a spark in her eyes not unlike the one he knew he himself had while on an exciting job. “If people like us don’t join your rebellion, how can anyone learn that it’s okay to fight back against oppression?” She turned her gaze to Jody, and they nodded at each other in agreement. They knew better than anyone at the table the horrors of being unwanted by one’s own government. Jody was half-human, and to her misfortune, from the part of the galaxy that hated mixed blood. Ellen knew her struggle, having fallen in love with a Sedoh male. His legacy was reflected in Jo’s flat nose and small, pointed ears.

“What, are you signing her permission slip?” Dean said, eager to lighten the mood. He took a bite of overly processed skerian potatoes. They didn’t taste as bad as they usually did.

Sam, sitting across from him, frowned. “What’s a permission slip?”

Dean paused. “I dunno,” he said through the potatoes. “Just something to say.”

“Dean!” Ellen’s voice was sharp. “Are you talking with your mouth full at my table?”

“It isn’t technically your table,” interjected Castiel. “Unless you have partial ownership—”

Chewing and swallowing, Dean found himself dropping a hand on Castiel’s back. “It’s fine, Castiel. Ellen’s right. She taught us better.” His eyes met hers, and she smiled.

Dean looked at his plate. He hoped she knew what she meant to him. He’d never said it in as many words, but each time he had thought to tell her, the words had stuck like razor blades embedded in his throat.

Castiel coughed a little. Dean thought it was another attempt at blending in, until he realized he was still touching Castiel. He drew his hand away, wondering at the tingling in his fingertips and the warmth in his hand.

“Well?” Jo was impatient.

Castiel and Sam exchanged looks before the rebellion leader nodded. “Very well. You and your mother are welcome to join us. We can tow your ship along to the base, and then we will see what you are made of.”

To his left, Jess whispered in Dean’s ear. “How does he know we have a tractor beam?”  

* * *

 

Castiel’s face was calm and composed, not quite devoid of emotion, as he flew Baby further and further toward the rebel base. Even hours after their shared meal, Dean was still finding it hard to look away from Castiel’s form. Why was this being so intriguing? How did he know so much about the Impala?  

Yet again, his eyes probed across the Malak’s back. Dean could sense that Castiel knew he was looking; it almost felt like another mind was bumping against his own, a passing ship in the endless expanse of space, but he kept staring, searching for bumps or unevenness under the being’s clothing.

As Castiel leaned forward to flick a switch, the neckline of his coat pulled taught to reveal tips of black ink. One side was gently curved, an invitation to pull the coat down and trace one’s hands over the tattoo. But Dean winced when he saw the other side—where matching black ink must have once been part of Castiel’s skin, there was the beginning of a jagged scar.

Castiel inhaled sharply, and for a moment Dean thought he’d been caught invading his privacy—until he looked through the shield and saw what Castiel saw.

“What the fuck is that?” Dean breathed, unbuckling his seatbelt to stand and get a closer look. Sam and Claire, who had relieved Jess and Jody the hour before, both leaned forward as well, their awed silence deafening.

2,000 yards away, what looked like grey and purple smoke billowed inward and outward, almost as though it were inhaling and exhaling. Suspended in space, tendrils of whatever-the-fuck the substance was began to curl toward the Impala, moving incredibly fast.

“Deflectors up,” Dean commanded, and Sam complied immediately. “Cas, what is this thing?”

“Cas?” the Malak looked up from the Captain’s chair.

“Castiel, whatever, eyes front buddy,” Dean motioned at the shield. “Is this more Empire shit?”

“No. This…I’m afraid that this is far worse. I did not expect...I’m sorry,” Castiel said, sounding defeated.

“What? Is it chemical warfare? Biological warfare? Should we go into lux?”

Castiel paused. “Lux. Perhaps we can evade it. But your tractor beam will not be strong enough to tow the Roadhouse through lux. Tell your friends—”

The floor beneath their feet shuddered, and Dean nearly lost his balance. He lunged for the radio, signaling the Roadhouse. “Get us out of here,” he muttered to Castiel as he waited for Ellen to pick up.

Castiel and Sam readied the ship for lux calmly, even as the smoke began to surround the ship, moving faster that Dean would have imagined. “Dean, what is this stuff?” Ellen answered the radio, her voice crackly and breaking up.

“I don’t know, but we have to leave,” Dean said. “We gotta go into lux right now.”

“Destination?”

“Ioris,” Castiel replied. “It’s a small moon in system—”

“Got it,” Dean heard Jo say over the channel. “Let’s go.”

“Do it,” Dean said as soon as he saw Castiel’s hand hover over the lux lever. Castiel pulled the lever, and Dean braced himself between his brother and Castiel for a movement that never came.

“Why aren’t we moving?” Dean shouted. The smoke was so thick now that he couldn’t see out of the shield. Claire and Sam scrambled to reroute what energy they could from the cockpit, and Dean vaguely registered Bobby’s voice over the intercom.

“Cas, if you broke my ship—” Dean clapped a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, squeezing in what was either comfort or warning—he wasn’t exactly certain, even as he gripped the being.

“It’s not us, it’s _that_ ,” Castiel pointed at the smoke. “It’s interfering with the lux capacitors. It doesn’t want us to leave.”

“That ain’t good enough for me,” Dean said, pulling the radio away from Sam and switching the frequency back to the Roadhouse. “Ellen, Jo, were you able to move? I can’t see you, and our tractor beam isn’t showing your signal.”

“We’re still here,” said Ellen roughly. “Lux capacitors don’t seem to want to—oh my…”

Her voice trailed off, the connection filling with static. “Ellen.” Dean kept his voice as even as he could. “Ellen, respond. Come in, now.”

“Uh, Dean…” Sam pointed at the shield. The smoke nearest them was beginning to clear, and Dean could see its main formation, now roughly 1000 yards from the Impala. Boiling and bubbling, the smoke crackled with dark fissures. In the center was an odd, hulking shape—not quite human, not quite animal. It raised its head. Dean couldn’t make out its face, but he felt unexplained dread trickle down his spine, putting his hairs on end.

“Is everything else still functional?” Dean asked, ignoring how his own voice may or may not have wavered.

“Yes,” Castiel answered immediately.

“Baby has a few tricks up her sleeve besides lux,” Dean said. “You still insisting on piloting?”

Castiel raised an eyebrow, and Dean huffed. “Fine. Take us into S-drive. We might be fast enough to get away from...that.” He gestured at the grotesque and ominous figure that was slowly coming closer.

“How does it breathe without a ship?” Claire asked, her eyes wide. “It has no air supply.”

“I don’t think we want to find out,” Sam answered, signaling the Roadhouse once more. “Ellen, Jo, are you there? You need to lock onto our coordinates and follow us as fast as you can.”

The only reply was static. Dean took over the radio, fiddling with the controls. “Navis HRV 3L3, come in. HRV 3L3, do you read me?”

Over the static, a low rumbling laugh filled the cockpit, turning Dean’s blood to ice in his veins. Through the shield, he could see the small class 5 ship being pulled toward the storm. As the Roadhouse got closer to the creature at its center, cracks began to appear in its outer structure.

“No. No! We have to do something,” Sam’s hands trembled over his set of controls as he watched what was left of their family be sucked into the smoke.

“It’s too late,” Castiel said. “We must flee now, or the same thing will happen to us.”

Dean took a breath, and pressed the button on the radio one last time. “HRV 3L3, come in...Ellen? Jo?”

All they heard was the sound of utter silence, devoid of life and energy.

Nothingness.


	9. Wheel in the Sky (Castiel POV)

Dean disappeared after dinner. After Kali’s somber announcement, not much more had been said. The space in Castiel’s mind that was cleanly and neatly labelled “Gabriel” screamed with its emptiness. Before, Castiel had paid little attention to it, assuming that it was because of the long distance between him and his brother. Now, the void cut deeply and painfully.

He returned to the guest quarters after dinner, escorted by Kali but wanting to be alone. The Crinis seemed to sense this and left him as soon as she’d seen him into his room. His _aushath_ unfurled, trembling in grief. They were mostly opaque at the moment because of his despair. He drew them close around him, until none of his flesh was visible, and then a guttural sound choked out from his lungs, and the jagged breath showed through in the flinching of his _aushath_.

He stood like that until the roaring emptiness became a dull murmur, and he could hear the soft breath of another person in the room.

_-Dean.-_

Seeking solace to fill the void Gabriel had left behind, Castiel’s mind instinctively tried to draw itself into Dean’s. The man laid sprawled across the bed, his eyes closed. Castiel knew the man wasn’t asleep; his consciousness was loud and broadcasting vast amounts of curiosity. Dean said nothing to Castiel, however, just rolled to one side of the bed to make room for him.

Not bothering to hide his _aushath_ , Castiel carefully reclined next to Dean, leaving a deliberate gap between them. The room was entirely dark, save for the small slivers of moonlight peeking through the drawn curtains. Dean’s breath was in tandem with his own, and the sound lulled Castiel into a state of near-sleep.

The emptiness did not seem so vast anymore, now that Dean was near. Just before Castiel fell asleep, he heard Dean softly say—so softly that it might have been an exhale— “We’ll find him, Cas.”

If it was a promise, Castiel could only hope that it was one that Dean could keep.

* * *

 

When morning arrived, Dean was gone. A fresh set of clothes—still all in blue—were laid out for him. After he dressed and exited the guest quarters, he found the Queen herself waiting for him in the hallway, casually dressed with no attendants in sight.

“I can take care of myself and they know that,” she said. “Walk with me, Castiel.”

The Queen led him to a garden. Castiel suspected that it was part of her private quarters, judging by the height of the wall. He was not surprised to see an abundance of red flora, but he did not expect the Queen to brush her fingers along the southern wall and for it to transform into a small armory.

“I call it the ‘firewall’,” Charlie said.

Some of the weaponry Castiel recognized, such as the Jard, which was favoured by Crinis like Kali, or the blasters, which were nearly identical to the one slung on Dean Winchester’s right hip.

“Pick one that suits you,” Charlie said. “You’ll need it when you go into the Void.”

“Malakin do not use weaponry.”

“Gabriel told me that you were a Guardian? You must be familiar with some kind of arms.”

 _Were_. As if Charlie understood that Castiel would not be re-welcomed into the Elder’s Temple after abandoning his post on an unsanctioned quest to find Gabriel.

“Guardians need no weaponry,” Castiel repeated. “We have other methods of defense.” Methods that many citizens of the galaxy would consider to be supernatural; Castiel thought it best not to describe them, not even to Charlie who Gabriel had trusted.

The Queen arched one eyebrow. “Perhaps, but outside of Malaket you need to _blend in._  Take one, Castiel. Think of it as a way to look like you belong with Dean.”

Without further hesitation, Castiel grabbed a short silver sword. Charlie nodded her approval. “That will do well in the outer reaches,” she said. “People, well, people out there aren’t as chill as me about people like you.”

“Chill?”

She laughed. “Sometimes I forget that I’m supposed to act like a queen.” She led him to a settee at the other end of the garden. From underneath the seat, she pulled out a small selection of papers. “These were Gabriel’s,” she told him. “Kali gave them to me for safe-keeping after...after he left. They’re yours now.”

Castiel skimmed through the pages. They made even less sense than the book he had found in Gabriel’s _nava_. What importance could there be to a man with yellow eyes? Or a gun rumored to kill anyone or anything?

Charlie looked at him with sympathy. “You know,” she said, “When Gabriel spoke to me about going into the Void, he made complete sense.”

Castiel doubted that.

“He has a story to tell. When you find him, _listen_ ,” Charlie said.

“How do I find him?”

Charlie moved to the northern wall. It lit up, revealing an interactive monitor that was disguised as brick when not in use. With a swipe of her fingers, it revealed a star chart. Castiel’s eyes immediately went to Malaket with a pang of longing. Charlie circled a planet in the outer reaches, almost to the edge of known territory. “This is Nepton. Gabriel went there before he went into the Void.”

“How do you know this?”

Charlie quirked a smile. “Because I found him a guide. She lives on Nepton. Well, ‘living’ might be an exaggeration.”

A shadow crossed over the garden. Panic settled in on the Queen’s face. “A class two Hel Empire vessel,” she whispered. “Who else knows you came to Aliz, Castiel?”  
“No one,” Castiel swore.

“Go,” urged Charlie. “Go now. The guide’s name is Billie. Find Dean. _Hurry_.”

An explosion rocked the fortress. Kali rushed into the garden, carrying her Jard and a shield. “Oh, thank the gods!” She embraced the queen. “They’re looking for the Malak,” she told the Queen. The Crinis was nearly breathless. “Run, Castiel. Dean will meet you at the hangar.”

“ _Go_ ,” Charlie commanded. She tapped a code into the wall monitor, revealing a detailed layout of the fortress. “They won’t get you, Castiel. I can take care of this.”

As Castiel left the garden, he could hear the Queen mutter, “Come and get it, assholes.”

He hurried through the fortress, weaving through the frightened inhabitants and determined soldiers. He missed no turns and ran into Dean just before he reached the hangar. Dean’s eyes were wild with worry. “Cas,” Dean said. “Oh, gods, Cas, I thought they’d gotten you!” His words were rushed together, said all in one breath.

“No, I’m still here,” Castiel replied. “But we should depart.”

If the fortress hadn’t rocked from another explosion, Dean probably would have said more. Instead, he grabbed Castiel’s hand and pulled him into a sprint toward the transport.

Once they were back aboard the Impala, and Bobby had groused at Dean for ten seconds, the need for lux became apparent. “Um, guys,” Jess said, “That’s a _really_ big ship heading straight toward us.”

“What did you do to piss them off?” piped in Claire.

“Lux now, talk later,” barked Dean.

The crew of the Impala sprung into motion like a well-oiled machine. “I need coordinates!” Jess yelled.

“Pick some!” Dean called back.

Castiel moved to the monitor, tapping in Nepton’s ascension/descension coordinates from memory. “That’s nowhere,” Jess said. “We’ll be jumping into nothing; nothing can live that close to the Void.”

“Trust him,” Dean called over his shoulder. He swung the Impala around to be out of direct fire from the Empire. Jess confirmed the coordinates and the Impala leapt away milliseconds before they were in range of the other ship’s weapons.

They all breathed a sigh of relief. Dean moved the controls to autopilot. “Well, that was exciting.”

Jess laughed, but Claire looked vaguely ill. “Why’d they come for us? What did they want?” the girl asked.

Castiel knew what the Empire wanted; a Malak Guardian’s knowledge was said to be as deep and vast as the Empire, which is why none had ever left Malaket. He knew that to the Empire, he could be considered rare and valuable, yet even he could not discern the truth behind the Empire’s interest in him.

“Looks like we’ve got a bit of a commute, boss,” Jess said. “You might as well rest up.” She motioned to Claire. “Hey, kid. Sit up front and I’ll teach you how to fly this thing.” Claire settled into the seat as soon as Dean had left it. She looked less ill and more excited now.

Dean grabbed Castiel’s hand, leading them both back to the captain’s quarters.  Once the door closed behind them, Dean dropped his calm facade and reached for Castiel, as if Dean were were making sure that Castiel was really there. His hands looked like they were about to cradle Castiel’s face, but instead they settled on his shoulders. Castiel tried not to feel disappointed. “By all the stars, Cas,” Dean murmured. “When I heard those explosions and I saw the Empire soldiers...I thought…” He caught himself from finishing the sentence, visibly regrouping. “I thought the worst.” Dean dropped his hands to his sides and Castiel missed the physical contact immediately.

Castiel allowed himself to unfurl his _aushath_ and wrap them around Dean, a gesture of comfort. He tucked Dean close to him, and Dean breathes in deep, relaxing into the embrace.  Dean had been reluctant for physical contact, but Castiel needed it, needed a connection. Though he still felt Gabriel’s loss, and the rest of his brethren, as a constant emptiness at the edge of his mind, he also knew that if he lost Dean, short though their acquaintance was, he would feel the captain’s loss, too. He knew that Dean felt the same, he could _feel_ it, and he wondered who Dean had lost to make him so afraid.

Dean’s face, buried in Castiel’s shoulder, felt solid. Felt safe. Being near Dean made Castiel comfortable in a way he had never been before, not even on Malaket.

“ _You like him_ ,” Gabriel-in-his-mind taunted. “ _Go ahead and tell him, Cassie._ ”

Castiel told Gabriel to find something better to do and instead focused on keeping Dean as close as he could for as long as possible.

* * *

 

A light tapping on the door roused Castiel from sleep. Dean stirred next to him, carefully disentangling himself from Castiel’s _aushath_.

Claire was at the door. “We arrived at those coordinates, but Jess says you should come up and see this.” Her eyes flicked over to Castiel’s reclined form. “You too,” she said.

Dean groaned, stretched, and reluctantly got up. “C’mon, angel. Looks like we’ve arrived at the middle of nowhere.”

When they arrived at the cockpit, Dean asked Jess to turn on the monitor to see outside the Impala. “It _is_ on,” Jess replied, “But there’s nothing to see.” She flipped on the scanner, which pinged loudly. “Stupid ship still says there’s life out there.”

“Hey! Don’t call Baby ‘stupid’.”

The Impala was correct, thought Castiel. He could feel another presence out there, surrounding the ship.

_-Castiel.-_

The voice brushing against Castiel’s mind was unfamiliar to him. It was soft but not gentle, a whispering wind foretelling a hurricane. - _Castiel-_

He sent back a thought of careful query, and the presence returned with a map. “Dean,” Castiel said, “Will you allow me to direct the Impala?”

“A flying lesson right now, Cas? Not really a good time.”

“I have been shown where we need to go.”

“You ever flown before?”

“If by ‘flown’ you are referring to directing the relative velocity and trajectory of a spacecraft then no, I have not.”

Dean and Jess exchanged a look. Grudgingly, Dean stood from the captain’s chair and motioned for Castiel to take his place. Dean placed the Castiel’s hands at the proper places on the controls—ten and two, Dean said, though Castiel had no idea what that meant. “Jess, make sure we’re flying smooth. We’re as blind as a bat but that doesn’t mean it needs to be bumpy.”

“What’s a bat?” Jess asked.

Dean frowned. “Who knows? Just something to say, I guess.”

The captain’s hands remained on Castiel’s. Dean’s skin, though rough and a little callused, was warm and inviting. Dean rubbed his thumbs along the back of Castiel’s hands, then leaned into Cas and said, “Alright, steer the ship, angel. I’ve got you.”

Castiel tried very hard to suppress the shiver that raced down his back. He recentered his focus and concentrated on locating the voice.

_-Castiel-_

_-You are not Malakin. How can you speak to me?-_

_-I am much, much, much older than Malaket, Castiel. Veer slightly to the left.-_ The voice guided the ship into landing on a planet that they could not see. _-Come outside.-_

“What if this is a trap?” Jess asked the room. “What if they’re going to, like, suck away our souls or something?

“This is a lot of effort to go through for my second-rate soul,” Dean huffed.

Castiel vehemently disagreed with him on the second part, but agreed that it was too great an effort to be a trap.

“Good enough for me,” Dean said. “Let’s go.” The crew—except for Claire and Bobby who stayed behind in the engine room—went to the cargo hold, all of them heavily armed. Castiel gripped tight the sword Charlie had given him, though he knew that whatever was outside was unlikely to be affected by it. The hatch lowered and a woman stood waiting for them. She had dark hair and even darker eyes; she introduced herself as “Billie.”

“What’s a lady like you doing in a place like this?” asked Dean. “What is this place, anyhow?”

“This place is my home, or what’s left of it,” the woman replied. _-Are you going to tell him where we are, Castiel, or shall I?_

“There used to be something here?”

“We are in the Void,” Castiel told them. “Or at least the doorway to it. Nothing can live here, not even light.” Jess looked confused, Jody looked angry, and Dean? Dean looked resigned.

“Well, this sucks,” Jody huffed.

“Agreed,” added Jess.

“Is no one gonna ask how we are still alive?” said Dean.

Billie laughed, and it sounded like the bells in the Elders’ Temple. “This is not how you die, Dean Winchester.” She laughed again, a thousand bells ringing all at once. “Wait here,” she told them. “ I must speak to the Malak.” Dean moved next to Castiel. “Alone,” Billie added.

“I will be alright,” Castiel promised. He was not sure if it was a promise he could keep, but he followed Billie anyway into the darkness. Once they moved away from the Impala, it became so dark that Castiel could only follow the sound of Billie’s footsteps. The Void was not only darkness, Castiel realized; it was also a chasm, a hollowness. It was the opposite of nature. Malakin were connected to each other, but also to life itself. Naomi had once told him that the Malakin were created to safeguard all of creation, and after many millennia, the galaxy no longer had need of them, and so they protected their history and each other on Malaket.

Naomi was wrong, thought Castiel. This empty planet proved that the universe still needed protection.

 _Are you surprised by this, Cassie? That Naomi would bend the truth to keep the Guardians on Malaket?_ Asked Gabriel-in-his-mind. _Why do you think that is?_

The more Castiel thought about it, the more unsurprised he found himself to be.

_-Is that why the Hel Empire seeks to destroy us? Because we are the only ones who could protect the galaxy from them?-_

_-Perhaps. Or perhaps you are just a small part in a larger plan.-_

_-What do you mean?-_ Castiel asked.

_-The Hel Empire is not the only danger you face, and to face it by yourself? It’s suicide. You are but an instrument, Castiel. A cog in a clock. It will strike midnight no matter what you do.-_

_-What do you mean?-_ Castiel asked again.

Billie ignored him. _-Castiel, have you ever felt so alone?-_

The Void threatened to crush Castiel. Every footstep was arduous, the deep black pressing down on the fabric of existence. Castiel was afraid to breathe, terrified that his breath would be stolen by the never-ending night.

_-Castiel, are you alone?-_

He ignored Billie for thoughts of Dean, which was the only thought that kept him moving. _Dean_. He could feel the man’s hands still, warm and constant, like the man himself.

_-Do you feel alone, Castiel?-_

When he thought of Dean, he did not feel alone. Castiel remembered the night before, of holding Dean in his arms, of his _aushath_ wrapped tightly around them both, of the peace it had brought him.

 _-He’s special-_ Billie supplied _-You feel it, don’t you? Whatever is ahead, he is a part of it, another piece of the puzzle.-_

There was no denying that Dean Winchester was unique; appreciation for Dean’s physique alone would demonstrate that. The more Castiel centered his thoughts on Dean, the less oppressive the darkness seemed. The memory of Dean’s smile was almost enough to banish it entirely.

_-Look down-_

Castiel could see his hand. The tendons on the back of the palm were taut and his flesh glowed a pale silver-blue. _-There should be no light. Light cannot exist in the Void.-_

_-It doesn’t exist in the Void-_

Castiel could see the faintest of outlines where he knew Billie to be standing.

 _-Look closely at yourself, Castiel._ -

Castiel turned his hand over so that it was palm side up. An orb, small but burning brightly, hovered over his palm. The same silver-blue glow danced along his arm.

 _The nayrah_.

_-You see, Castiel? The light is in you.-_


	10. Long Long Way From Home (Dean POV)

“Nivay? Your base is on fucking Nivay?”

“What did you expect?” Castiel looked up at Dean, a smile playing around his lips.

“I don’t know, something more...grand?”

“Grand? We don’t want to be found, Dean,” Sam said. “We were sort of aiming for inconspicuous.”

“Well, where is it then?”

“There.”

“Where?”

“There! _”_

Dean took in the enormous building, cut into the heart of a mountain. At first glance, it looked like it belonged there; no one who didn’t have the entrance pointed out to them would even notice it.

Sam signaled the base for permission to land, and Castiel steered the ship expertly into the hangar once they had the go-ahead. Dean watched him handle the ship for the hundredth time since that fateful moment on Itheost, and was amazed yet again at how _good_ Castiel was with Baby. It was unnerving how much Dean realized he couldn’t just let it go—but Castiel flew the Impala with the same love and respect and knowledge that Dean did, and as much as Dean hated to admit it, it was...well, it was kinda hot. It was almost as though Castiel had taken lessons from Dean himself.

“Jo would have loved to see this,” Sam remarked sadly, and that killed Dean’s train of thought. It had been nearly 24 hours since they had lost Ellen and Jo to what Castiel simply called “The Darkness.” Dean kept reliving the scene over and over in his head, and it hurt. It hurt worse than when John Winchester had left them high and dry. It hurt worse than when he’d realized that Sam was leaving and had no intention of coming back.

“Yeah, she would have,” Dean said, his voice tight with held-back emotion. _Keep it together, man_. “So, uh...how long do we have to wait before you explain this Darkness shit to us, huh?”

He didn’t give voice to what he knew was lurking in the back of everyone’s minds: now that they were at the Base, would Castiel just leave them in ignorance, never knowing why Ellen and Jo’s lives had been taken?

Castiel stood and stretched, raising his arms over his head in a surprisingly human expression of exhaustion. “You will be given rooms to freshen up. Then we will sit down, and I will explain what I can.”

“Good,” Dean turned to leave the cockpit. “I’m tired of secrets.”

* * *

 

It was interesting seeing Castiel in his natural habitat, so to speak. All the members of the rebellion called him “Commander” and did whatever he said without question. Their admiration and respect for their leader was clear, and probably well-deserved, Dean thought as he bathed and dressed. Although he still thought that the Rebellion was a waste, he was beginning to see why Sam followed Castiel. Castiel was determined, intelligent, and able to keep his cool under pressure; everything a leader should be. No wonder Jo had wanted to join him.

A knock interrupted his thoughts, and he turned to the door. “Yeah?”

Jess poked her head in. “You ready, princess?”

“I certainly smell like one,” Dean remarked as he joined her in the maze-like hallway. “I wonder where they get their soap.”

“Who cares? This place is amazing, don’t you think? I mean, it’s entirely self-sufficient, so they don’t draw on off-world resources, and dude, for people trying not to be found, that’s genius. And did you see the weapons range they have? For pacifists, they certainly have nice gear.”

“I would have decorated differently.”

Jess elbowed his ribs. “Your ‘neutral’ ass is impressed, admit it.”

“Maybe a little.”

“Hey, I...Dean, stop.” Jess placed a hand on his arm, slowing him down. “Listen, I didn’t say it before because...I didn’t know what to say. I’m really sorry about Ellen and Jo. I know they were like family to you.”

Dean nodded. “Thank you.” His throat threatened to close up, and he swallowed the lump down. “We’d better hurry or we’ll be late. Who knows what the ‘Commander’ will do if we are.”

Jess scratched behind a sarrah absentmindedly as they continued to walk. “He’s interesting, isn’t he?”

“That’s a bit of an understatement, don’t you think?”

Jess laughed under her breath. “So where is this dinner supposed to be?”

Dean shrugged. The complex that made up the base was enormous. Tunneled deep into the mountain, it was large enough to house several garrisons, and had more supplies than Dean had ever transported in his life. If the Rebellion had to wait out a war here, they could do it without any setbacks.

“This way,” came Sam’s voice from behind them. At the other end of the hall, the younger Winchester waved at them. “You’re headed toward the weapons magazine. Dining hall is over here.”

“Not all of us are mind readers,” Dean said. “I could’ve used a map.”

“I thought you never needed to ask for directions,” Sam grinned. Dean rolled his eyes. Sam laughed, a welcome sound. Jess tugged on Dean’s arm and they followed Sam in the opposite direction.

“So,” Jess said, “do we get special treatment? I mean, we hauled your asses here. Dinner in the grand ballroom, maybe?”

“The base doesn’t have a ballroom,” Sam replied, missing her sense of humor. “Castiel eats with everyone else. There’s no special treatment, even for him.”

“Dean, please tell your brother that I was joking,” Jess nudged Dean.

“She’s only half-joking.”

Sam shook his head. “Well, it’s true. Castiel is just like the rest of us, even though everyone here looks up to him. I mean, he does his best, anyway. Hard to be human when you’re one of them.”

 _Them_. Malakin. The mysterious creatures that could fly, read your mind, and kill their enemies with the touch of one finger—at least, according to the copy of _101 Stories from Across the Galaxy_ that Dean had kept under his pillow until the day John left them behind. Apparently they could also fly spaceships they’d never been in before, and were really good at keeping very annoying secrets that could cost people’s lives.

“My my, someone’s bitter,” Jess muttered at his side.

Dean bit his tongue. How much of that had he said out loud?

Sam didn’t seem to have heard, already several strides ahead thanks to his freakishly long legs. “Here we go,” he announced as they passed two armed guards who looked at them with undisguised curiosity.

The dining hall was as large as one would expect for so huge a force as the Rebellion—at least, it was what Dean had expected now that he’d seen the Base for himself. The tables were long, but not overcrowded, and a friendly, amiable ambiance was thick in the air. Laughter and conversation flowed like wine—the complete opposite of the way the Empire propaganda painted the Rebels. This was no lonely firepit with starving farmers for soldiers. These people were happy, well-fed, and committed to their cause.

“There he is,” said Sam, leading them to the right side of the hall. Dean’s mouth began to water at the sight and aroma of the meal. Castiel was seated at the last table, not at the head, but near the end. Across from him sat a young human woman and short green-skinned male of a species Dean had never seen before.

“Welcome,” Castiel nodded as the group approached. “But where are the others?”

“Hannah is bringing them. Bobby wanted to see how we power this place, so…”

“So you don’t say no to Bobby. As I’ve learned.” Castiel smiled. “Please, sit. Eat.”

Dean found himself sitting between Castiel and Jess, with an enormous plate before him. It was a stark contrast to the meal he and Sam had prepared for Ellen and Jo. Embarrassment mingled with sadness deep in his stomach, banishing his appetite.

Thankfully, no one seemed to notice except Castiel, who looked at Dean with a frown. There it was again—that strange brush of consciousness, like the stories about Malakin were true. A wave of comfort washed over Dean; for a brief moment, he wanted to fight it, be angry, lash out in the way he always did. But Cas’s calm and quiet presence was a balm in the din of the dining room, and the struggle in Dean’s chest. Against his better judgment, he let the feeling soothe him; he didn’t want to think about who he had lost. As the thoughts of Jo and Ellen began to sting a little less, he even took a bite of food.

Of course, it was fucking delicious.

Under the peaceful influence of whatever the fuck Castiel had done to him, Dean began to listen to the conversation around him. He learned that the people at the table were named Lisa and Kevin, respectively. Lisa kept giving him meaningful glances from under her eyelashes, but that was another matter entirely. He filed away her obvious interest for later, thinking that maybe a good screw was what he might need to drown the sorrow that was only temporarily hidden by Castiel’s influence.

He also heard Sam tell Jess how he’d joined the Rebellion on a drunken, dangerous dare, and why he knew it had been the most important mistake of his life. Dean couldn’t help but smile a little at that; trust Sam to spin something good out of something bad. But though Dean felt better, more composed, than he had moments ago, he couldn’t shake the idea of Jo sitting next to him, eager to hear Sam’s story, ready to fight, dying to know everything about the base.

By the time Bobby, Jody, and Claire joined them, most of the others had finished eating. “Having fun?” Dean asked Bobby, passing him his plate, still mostly piled high.

“Yeah, but…” Bobby looked at the food. “You okay kid?” He didn’t need to say that Dean usually ate like it was his last meal.

“Fine. Tired. Food’s good, though. You’ll like it.”

Bobby’s busy eyebrows lowered skeptically, but he dug a fork in anyway.

“So what did we miss?” Claire turned to Castiel.

Castiel’s eyes were on Dean when he replied. “As of yet, we had not addressed what was previously discussed. But I am happy to do so now.”

“Should we leave?” Lisa made to get up from the table, but Castiel raised a hand.

“No, no. You and Kevin are part of all this. If you are comfortable staying, then I ask that you do.”

Lisa sat down again, exchanging glances with the orange creature at her side. Kevin whispered to her before turning to his commander. “We’ll leave you to explain things,” he said in a deep baritone. “My own role in this is not yet come to pass.”

They rose and nodded to the crew of the Impala before departing. As soon as they were out of earshot, Castiel leaned his elbows on the table, as though the weight of the planet were pressing down upon him.

“Time doesn’t always work the way we think it does,” he began. “It can be changed—altered, if you will—if forces are strong enough. There are multiple realities, multiple copies of this same universe, and not one is exactly like the other. And sometimes they collide, crack, and bleed.”

“Enough with the fairy tales, kid,” interrupted Bobby, pushing his plate away. “What’re you gettin’ at?”

“Wait, Bobby…” Dean held up a hand, surprised at his own eagerness to see where Castiel was going with the story. “Let him finish.”

“It is no fairytale. Once, many years ago, I was at the center of such a collision. While saving someone who would become a dear friend and invaluable resource from a fate unknown, a crack was created in the Void. The payment to close the Void was the death of this friend, and...his family. I kept them from death, but the payment has been a steep one. Through this crack has come the oldest evil known to all races and all species on every planet from here to Auksana.”

“The Darkness,” Dean provided. “You’re talking about the Darkness, aren’t you.”

“Yes. The Darkness had been jailed within the Void, but slipped through the crack I left behind. I was a fool, who thought that I knew better than the forces of the universe, but...I have learned a hard lesson.”

“What does this have to do with all of us?” Jody crossed her arms on the tabletop. “I always thought that the Darkness was a kid’s story. Something we told children to make them behave.”

“The Darkness is an ancient energy, one that even my kind cannot completely comprehend. I have spent the last quarter of a century researching whenever I had a spare moment, trying to decipher its intentions. The Darkness has lurked at the edges of the universe, a distant threat all these years. My adversary has been the Empire, the driving force behind everything you see here, and yet...the Darkness has skulked about, lying in wait. Until yesterday.”

“What aren’t you telling us?” Dean said, hearing bitterness creep into his voice as the comfort that Castiel had provided began to fade. He could feel Sam watching him, but he kept his eyes on their host. “Did you know that the Darkness would find us? That it would kill my friends?”

“I have already told you that the Empire wants me for reasons separate from my founding and leadership of the Rebellion against them. They know of the Darkness, and they know that it is free because of me. Because of the people I loved enough to risk the fate of the universe.” His face was serious and defeated. “They see me as a threat because of what I have done. Because of what I know. They are terrified of the Darkness, for they recognize what it could do to the lives of every living creature in every galaxy.”

“But why Ellen and Jo?” Sam spoke up. “Why were they targeted? Why did they have to...to die?”

“Because the Darkness has a long memory. The Darkness knows our weaknesses and preys on them to force us into submission and fear.”

“But you didn’t know Ellen and Jo before that day,” Dean said. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“The Darkness wasn’t preying on me,” Castiel sighed. “It was preying on you.”

Dean's stomach plummeted, and for a moment he thought he might be sick. Sam was staring at him. Everyone was staring at him. "This was not my fault," he choked out, even as he stood from the table, backing away from Castiel. "You're lying."

"I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean turned his back, ignoring as Claire and Jess called out to him, and stalked out of the dining hall.

* * *

 

Dean collapsed into the bed, turning his face into the pillow. He hated to admit it, but it was more comfortable than his bunk on the Impala. Taking a deep breath, he willed himself not to think about the Darkness, the Empire, or Jo and Ellen. He just wanted a few hours of ignorant bliss before he had to face it all again in the morning.

A gentle tap on the door sounded, and he groaned. “What do you want?” he grumbled.

“Dean...it’s me,” Castiel murmured. “May I enter?”

Dean rolled over. “It’s your bunker, ain’t it?”

The door opened, Castiel silhouetted against the light of the hallway. His figure disappeared momentarily as he closed the door behind him.

“Come to check on me again?” Dean said sarcastically. "Do you follow all your guests back to their rooms?"

“You...you left. This indicates that you are upset with what I have told you.”

Dean turned on the small light on the bedside table, illuminating Castiel’s face. He sat up slowly. “You're fucking right I left. Damn right I’m upset. When I said I wanted to know what you were keeping from us, I didn't expect that bullshit. Ellen and Jo were special to me. Don't you understand that? Can't your Malak brain comprehend human love?"

Castiel sat on the edge of the bed, his warmth radiating toward Dean.

“You really don’t have any issues with a lack of personal space, do you?”

Castiel tilted his head. “You don’t mind.”

Dean breathed. In. Out. “I mind your insane stories, your insinuation that Jo and Ellen are somehow dead because of me.”

Castiel’s eyes glowed in the artificial light. He leaned closer to Dean. If they were anywhere else, in any other situation, Dean might have thought he was going to kiss him. “There are still many things you do not understand.”

“What’s your point, buttercup? I’m tired and I’d like to go to bed.”

Castiel looked down at his left hand, curling the fingers inward. “My apologies. I’ll leave you.” He stood awkwardly and made for the door.

“Wow, that’s it? You give up easily for a commander,” Dean said, his voice barbed and dangerous.

Castiel turned on his heel, his coat flaring out behind him. “Watch your words, Dean Winchester.”

Dean knew he should have backed off, but his blood was already boiling. Ellen and Jo’s faces flashed before his eyes. “Or what? You’ll zap me right out of existence? Or is that just another fairy tale?”

“You do not know of what you speak.”

Dean got to his feet, propelled by something he couldn’t put a name to. “Why are you here, Cas? Why did you follow me? To make me feel worse? Well, I don’t need you or your stories or your stupid rebellion. I’ve done my job, and I’m leaving first thing in the morning.”

“I followed you because I care!” Castiel shouted. “So make up your mind, Dean. Do you want answers, or do you want me to leave?”

They were suddenly face to face. Dean’s heart was beating fast, too fast, and his vision was narrow. All he could see was Castiel’s eyes, those crinkles around the corners that held a lifetime he knew he couldn’t comprehend. “Why do you care?” Dean asked, his voice gruff and close to breaking. “Why care about me?”

“I wish on all the stars that I had a good enough answer for you,” Castiel growled. “But you’re never satisfied, are you?”

Dean’s hand began to tingle, electricity flowing between their bodies. He expelled the breath he’d been holding in. “Fuck you.”

He didn’t know if he leaned in first, or if Cas did, but it didn’t matter. Their mouths crashed together, Dean’s lips fueled by warring emotions. He wanted to punch Castiel, wrap his hands around his throat, bruise that perfect skin. He bit at Castiel’s soft mouth as he realized that his fingers had tangled in Castiel’s hair, and that they’d fallen back onto the bed. Shoving one thigh between Castiel’s legs, and bracing the other against the mattress, he flipped them easily. He knew on some level that Castiel could have stopped him, but the thought vanished when soft leather caressed his face. The anger gave way to passion, and Dean couldn’t get close enough.

Everything was hard and fast, and Dean would have been lying if he said it didn’t hurt a little bit. But it was also amazing, better than anything he’d felt in a long time. Castiel was everywhere—inside his mind, his heart, his very skin, and Dean didn’t understand. But this, the grinding of hips and parting of flesh, was achingly familiar.

When it was over, he rolled away from Castiel, staring at the ceiling. He was breathing hard, but the being at his side seemed already recovered, his breath cool and even. Dean chanced a glance, and saw that in their frenzy, Cas had never taken off those damn gloves. The electric current between them was gone, replaced by a satiated hum of energy.

“That was…” the words came from Dean’s lips, unbidden. “Something.”

Castiel smiled wryly.

Dean’s heart plummeted, though he couldn’t say why. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Cas looked at him, really looked at him, and Dean felt even more naked than he already was.

“Sorry. Stupid question,” Dean answered himself, rolling out of the bunk and toward the electric washbasin.

“You cannot hurt me physically, Dean,” Castiel explained. “It just was not meant to happen this way. I am sorry for my weakness, I just...wanted to be close to you.”

“Hmm.” Dean wasn’t sure what to say. Was there a name for the horrible mixture of guilt, relief, anger, attraction? Should he even let Castiel know what was going on in his head, or could he already sense it with his weird powers? Were his feelings genuine, or was Castiel projecting onto him again? He shook his head. “And how was it supposed to happen, angel? Since you obviously know everything that I don’t.”

Castiel was quiet as Dean ran a cloth under some hot water. He spoke when Dean turned back toward the bunk. “It should have been different. Softer, somehow, but still bright. Like a coal instead of an open flame.”

“Shows how much you know,” Dean said. He brought the cloth to Castiel’s side, wiping the evidence of their activities away gently. Was this okay? He thought about asking— _fuck, I probably should have asked, shouldn’t I?_ —but Castiel looked perfectly content to have Dean run the cloth over his skin. The anger that had shown in Castiel’s eyes only a few moments before was gone.

“Meaning?”

Dean chuckled, but there wasn’t any mirth in it. “Coals are anything but soft.”

A hand settled over his, stilling the cleanup. “Coals endure. Flames are fleeting.”

“You’re crazy,” Dean said.

“Maybe a little.”

Castiel leaned closer, his lips ghosted over Dean’s, a soft kiss that soothed a little of the ache in his heart.

“Was this a bad idea?” Dean asked against Cas’s mouth, the cloth dropping from his hand, forgotten. He cupped Cas’s jaw and placed another kiss at the corner of his lips. Would it be different the second time? He could make Castiel feel good, he knew he could. He let a hand wander to Cas’s back, tracing over the tattoo that was still whole and unscarred. He couldn’t remember the last time he had wanted a do-over, the last time he had wanted to stay in bed with anyone.

Before the Castiel could reply, the low lights in the room began to flicker in a steady pattern.

“What the—”

“Silent alarm,” Castiel explained, jumping off the bed. He shoved Dean’s discarded clothes at him. “Get dressed.”

“What is it?” Dean did as he was told.

“Hel attack.”

“Are you kidding me?” Dean was shoving his feet into his boots. “Did you and Sam not two hours ago tell me that this place was secure?” He made sure to grab his blaster and tuck it back into the holster slung around his hips.

Castiel threw on his coat. “It is. They have never found us. They must have followed your ship.”

“The ship that _you_ flew,” Dean accused as they ran into the hallway. “If you’d let me do my own damn job, we’d never have been tracked.”

Castiel was silent as he led the way. Rebels scurried back and forth through the maze of hallways, each intent on following protocol and orders that had probably been drilled into their heads when they joined the cause. Dean followed Cas, but wondered where Sam was.

“Sir!” a tall woman with a face as composed as Castiel’s called to them as they entered a room that Dean assumed was the center of operations. Her eyes were also blue, and Dean took a deep breath. Another Malak. How many of them were there?

“What is it, Lieutenant?” Castiel was more serious than Dean had yet seen him, his gaze even more focused and intense than usual.

“We don’t know how, but the emperor’s ship is hailing us from just outside the base. They’re using a white flag code.”

“Parlay,” Castiel muttered. “Why would he want to meet instead of attack?”

“Orders, sir?”

“Reply to the signal. Tell him I will come out to meet him.”

“Cas—” Dean grabbed his shoulder. “That’s probably not a good idea.”

“And the alternative?” Cas looked up at him. “We should take the offer of parlay while it stands. Otherwise, he is likely to bomb the base, and the majority of my people will die.”

“So you fight back! That’s the point of a rebellion, isn’t it? Besides, now that he knows where you are—”

“Dean, trust me.” Castiel was calm. “I know what I am doing. Besides, I thought you were neutral.”

Panic welled up inside Dean at the thought of Cas meeting the most dangerous man in the galaxy by himself. “I’m going with you, then,” he blurted.

“No.”

“You’re not my commander,” Dean reminded him. Realizing his hand was still on Castiel’s shoulder, he squeezed. “Let me go with you.”

“Sir?”

Dean had forgotten the hubbub of people surrounding them. He let go of Cas as the commander spoke to the lieutenant. “Tell the Emperor’s ship that a guard and I will meet him. Rules of Alrai Reothin apply. And Hannah?”

“Yes?”

“Send someone to ensure that Kevin is under guard in his quarters. No harm is to come to him, do you understand?”

“Of course, sir. Right away.”

The woman scurried away, talking into her earpiece.

“Kevin? The green guy? What would the Emperor want with him?” Dean thought of the creature who had been relatively quiet at the dinner table—it seemed like days ago, although he knew it had only been a few hours since they’d arrived on Nivay.

“Kevin is special,” Castiel said. “Important to our cause.”

“He can’t be as important as you, and yet you’re probably about to walk into a trap.”

Cas smiled. “Still want to accompany me?”

“Just try and stop me.”


	11. Interlogue

**_Interlogue?_ **

This was the point in the story where he knew, from prior experience, that the pacing could get slow. It was crucial to inform the reader about the _nayrah_ and about what it meant for the characters, and of the threat of the Darkness and how the stories would weave together. The problem, he had found, was that writing an explanation about such things always tended to feel like a “dear reader” moment—he still couldn’t look about at his original introduction of the Darkness in his first draft without cringing.

But how could he explain that the universe had begun with a thought? No flashes, no explosions, no big bangs—just a quiet thought and then there was light.

Well, “light” was the simplest translation of a metaphysical concept so complex that the normal human brain couldn’t grasp it—it would be like trying to trap a hurricane inside of a glass bottle.

Perhaps it would be simpler to call it “life.” Humanity tended to call it “the soul”, and the Malakin called it the _nayrah_ . It was sometimes confusing to keep it all straight, but as his editor had recommended—more like demanded—he recorded all his backstory in a small notebook that he carried with him everywhere. Flipping through it, he quickly finds his notes on the _nayrah_ :

  * **_Visible representation of life or the “soul”_**


  * Allows Malakin to be more “connected” to the universe (gives them superpowers?)


  * Like soulmates, when Malakin find their “hesen”, their _nayrah_ begins to glow (because it looks cool)


  * What happens if _nayrah_ is extinguished/broken? (dead? zombies?)


  * Probably something else cool, right? Surely. Right?



With a sigh, he set pen to paper. Apparently he still had a lot of details to flesh out, like how the hell he was going to describe the Void.


	12. Where Are We Now? (Castiel POV)

On Malaket, a _nayrah_ would be displayed with pride. Castiel was not on his home planet, however, and instinct told him that the _nayrah_ pairing should be kept quiet.

After he had left Billie, he spent an hour, maybe two--it was difficult to tell time on a planet comprised of darkness--learning to hide the _nayrah_. "No use hiding, Cassie," Gabriel-in-his-mind told him, "The truth always comes out."

Ignoring Gabriel's imagined words, Castiel pooled his focus on the _nayrah_ , willing it to disappear. It didn't. If anything, the glow grew stronger. Brighter.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," taunted Gabriel. "What did I tell you, Cassie? The light is you. You are the _nayrah_. You can't hide it so easily."

Castiel tried once more to extinguish the _nayrah_ , but it stubbornly circled his wrist, growing steadily brighter. It was stubborn, though beautiful—two traits it shared with the captain of the Impala.

"Idiot," chided Gabriel. "The _nayrah_ appeared because of _Dean._ "

- _So?-_ Castiel caved and spoke back to Gabriel.

Gabriel-in-his-mind heaved a heavy sigh. "You are more dense than I remember, Cassie-boy. You and Dean-o, you're what humans would call 'soulmates.' The _nayrah_ is a visual representation of _that_."

- _I thought the nayrah was me?-_

"Oh, my God, Cassie, it's like you've never read a soulbond romance before! Oh, wait, you haven't. Well, Mr. Grumpy Feathers, if you held back your undying universe-shattering love for Dean-o, the _nayrah_ would hide itself, capisce?"

Castiel understood less than half of the words that Gabriel said in his head; he assumed that his mind was compensating for Gabriel's typical speech patterns by creating gibberish. He did, however, try Gabriel's suggestion and tried to banish Dean from his mind. The more he tried, the more he found himself lingering on the memory of the moonlight reflecting in Dean's eyes that night on Aliz.

"You really are horrible at this, aren't you?" sniped Gabriel. "You have to focus on something else, something that is _not Dean_."

That made more sense to Castiel than anything else Gabriel had said thus far. Castiel focused instead on his missing connection to his brethren. He felt the distance from them acutely—they were the roots of a mighty tree and he was a leaf, lost on the wind. Time, and distance, helped to numb the pain, but Castiel felt it constantly, usually pushing it to the side of his mind. Now, he delved into that pain, into that yawning chasm of emptiness where his brethren used to be. Focusing on his loss, Castiel pulled the _nayrah_ back, until none of it remained in the visible realm. Except the glow. The glow stayed, and the inside of Castiel's arm, just at the wrist, glowed that same silver blue.

It allowed Castiel enough light to see his way back to the Impala. Once aboard, he quickly made his way to his quarters. He projected an aura of unwillingness to be seen and so he was unnoticed as the crew passed by him. Safe in his cabin, he let the _nayrah_ be visible once more. The light was stronger than it had been outside, probably because he could hear the warm baritone of Dean’s voice echoing in the hallway. He contemplated, just for a moment, what would happen if he _didn’t_ hide the _nayrah_ from Dean.

Would Dean even notice?

“He’s human, not blind,” supplied Gabriel.

_-And he would not know what it means to the Malakin.-_

“Well, no, but he would ask about it. He’s a curious little slice of deliciousness.”

The _nayrah_ ebbed, and Castiel knew that it was because he imagined the possible look of rejection on Dean’s face.

“Or...he could be into it,” said Gabriel, “I bet Winchester is into wing kink.”

Castiel ignored the corner of his mind that was devoted to Gabriel, and instead fashioned a wrap by shredding the last inch or so of the hem of his tunic. With a sense of unease, he hid the _nayrah_ from view. It wouldn’t do to have Dean see it, to have Dean ask questions that Castiel didn’t know how to answer. After all, how could Castiel explain that the _nayrah_ had appeared _because of Dean_?

* * *

 

_-Castiel-_

Billie’s voice in his head, though not unwelcome, was unpleasantly cold. Castiel had tried to describe it to Jess, but the analogy of it being as foreign as a six-legged Felis was lost on her. Billie’s voice held no familiarity, no warmth, and each time she called on him, the loss of his brethren hurt worse than before.

 _-Castiel-_ Billie repeated. _-You must leave Nepton.-_

_-Billie?-_

_-Go now. Tell Dean.-_

Castiel, who had been resting alone in his room, rushed across the hall to Dean’s door. The captain was opening the door just as Castiel poised to knock. “Cas?”

“We need to leave.”

“What? Why?”

_-Castiel. The Hel Empire is coming!-_

“Hel Empire,” Castiel said.

Dean swore and ran toward the bridge. The captain wouldn’t make it in time; Castiel could feel how close they were, now that he was aware. Using his _aushath,_ he reached the bridge before Dean. From memory, Castiel began flicking the switches that he’d seen Jess and Dean use. He could feel the dark presence, the same looming menace that he’d felt on Charlie’s planet, approaching. The presence was moving toward them, fast, and Castiel knew that they wouldn’t escape quickly enough. Through the Darkness, Castiel could feel, could see, the Hel Empire. The attack on Castiel’s mind was sudden, like the pricking of a finger, and there was no buffer, no safety net of his brethren connection, to protect him from the cold and biting stab of evil that infiltrated his mind.

It violated his mind, brutally thrusting into his most intimate and private memories. It saw the day Gabriel taught him how to use his _aushath,_ the morning that Naomi had named him a Guardian, the moment that Castiel had first seen Dean. It twisted them, darkening the edges of his memories, warping them from something beautiful to something corrupted, something tainted. _-Malak-_ it snarled to him. _-Castiel, isn’t it?-_ It clawed its way in, shredding and tearing until Castiel screamed. _-You scream so pretty, Malak.-_

Castiel unfurled his _aushath,_ and, unwinding his mind as far as it could reach, he transported the Impala and everyone aboard as far as he could from Nepton.

But not before it snarled again in his mind, _-You can’t hide. Not from Crowley.-_

* * *

 

The Impala reappeared in the asteroid belt bordering the K’sas system. The ship took some external damage to the right engine before Castiel moved them safely away. He collapsed on the captain’s chair from exhaustion.

“What the hell was that?” Dean’s voice boomed through the bridge. He stopped when he saw Castiel, _aushath_ unfurled. The edge of the _nayrah_ was visible, but Castiel could not summon the energy to disguise it. The captain had stormed in, angry and confused, but all of that melted away from his face when he saw Castiel struggling for breath. “Angel? Cas?”

Castiel couldn’t answer. He’d never moved so much or so far, and it had depleted him of energy. Dean carried him back to his quarters, murmuring, “it’s alright, you’re alright” to him. He felt Dean tuck blankets close around him; he heard Dean whisper “I’m here, it’s okay” over and over until Castiel believed it and slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

 

Castiel woke alone. The Impala was quiet--no distant humming of the engines or clamoring of the crew. The _nayrah_ was still visible, wrap fallen and pooled around Castiel’s wrist. He was in Dean’s cabin rather than his own, but the bed beside him was cold and empty. Had Dean seen the _nayrah_? Could the man guess what it meant?

Castiel carefully sat up. He fastened the wrap over his wrist. The _nayrah’s_ glow was dimmed but not diffused.

- _Castiel-_ Billie’s voice was faint. _-Where are you?-_

It was more difficult than Castiel anticipated to respond to Billie. He broke into a cold sweat, his bones ached, he felt ready to retch any second. He managed to weakly project _-K’sas-_ before collapsing in exhaustion.

Castiel did not remember Dean returning to the room, or the feeling of gentle fingers carding through his hair.

* * *

 

The Impala’s engine had suffered a “blow to the S-Drive”, as Bobby gruffly informed the ship’s captain and crew. Dean hadn’t told anyone just how they’d ended up in the middle of an asteroid; most of them assumed that he’d been distracted and miscalculated the lux coordinates, something they were only too eager to rib the captain about. Dean just smiled good-naturedly at the jokes at his expense, but later he whispered in Castiel’s ear, “I trust my crew with just about everything, even my life,” he said. “But intergalactic space wings is a bit much to keep secret, even for them.”

Castiel hadn’t even bothered to correct Dean on the assumption that _aushath_ were like wings. In fact, after he was fully rested and energy restored, he did his utmost to avoid Dean. Stranded as they were by the K’sas system, Castiel still managed to deflect Dean’s attention by spending most of his time with Claire. Since being rescued by Dean and Castiel, Claire had become an “angsty teenage stereotype,” according to Dean. The man was more than happy to keep his distance from Castiel when Claire was near. Castiel thought, given the circumstances, Claire was adjusting remarkably well.

Since her first night aboard the Impala, Castiel had taken to reading to Claire. It helped her sleep, or at least that’s what Jess told him. He suspected that Claire’s nightmares would always be there, but if he could lessen them, he was happy to read to the girl. He’d first read a book of Crinis folklore to Claire, but they quickly discovered that decapitation was a common occurrence in Crinis fairytales. Next he’d tried a manual for the installation of engine bearings for a hyper-S propulsion system, thinking that perhaps it was just the sound of his voice that brought comfort to Claire.  The amount of eye-rolling he’d endured was a first for the Malakin, he was sure. Out of literary options, and unwilling to ask Dean for help, Castiel turned to the book he’d taken from Gabriel’s _nava_ , hoping that he could make enough sense of it to read to Claire.

The book must have had an incantation on it because words and languages that were indecipherable before he left Malaket now read in perfect Malak, and when Claire looked at it, she could see it in Common Speech. Names were still difficult, so Castiel compensated with using the names of some brethren. The main character, he named Dean, just because it seemed to make Claire come a little more alive.

“Chapter ten,” he said, “is called ‘Abandon All Hope.’”

They were nearing the middle of the book, and the main characters were preparing for battle, almost to certain death. For the most part, Claire huffed under her breath at the impossible mythology and overly melodramatic character interactions, but she seemed interested in the text overall.

“So, like, they’re all gonna just walk into this town and try to kill the bad guy and then they all die?”

“Well, as the narrative is not complete, it is doubtful that they will all die.”

Claire settled in, her hair billowing over one of the small pillows on the bed. “Well, it _sounds_ like they’re all gonna die.” She played with her hair with an air of disinterest, but Castiel knew that she wanted him to keep reading.

“‘I think the devil’s in town to work a ritual. I think he means to unleash Death,’” Castiel read.

“What’s a devil?”

Castiel frowned. “I’m not sure I know.” He studiously ignored Gabriel’s notes in the margin on the subject and continued reading. Claire interrupted every minute or two with commentary on the impending apocalypse. “The angel of death must be brought into this world at midnight through a place of awful carnage,” Castiel read.

“What’s ‘carnage?’ And isn’t ‘angel’ what Dean calls you?”

“Carnage means death, and obviously their angel isn’t like _my_ angel,” came Dean’s voice from the entryway. Dean leaned against the doorjamb, a small smirk spread across his handsome face. Castiel snapped the book closed before Claire could ask him to continue reading. He wasn’t sure how to explain to the man that he’d used his name for the main character of a sensationalized adventure story about _Earth_. Claire noticed his embarrassed flush, and her eyes sparkled with amusement at his expense. "Wanna read with us, Captain?" Claire asked. Her slight smirked matched Dean's, and Castiel wondered that so many people in his life held the ability to be both charming and fiendish simultaneously. Gabriel, Dean, now Claire...it would appear that Castiel attracted a very specific type of personality.

"Nah," drawled Dean. "I got things to do down on the surface, but I'm gonna take your babysitter with me."

Claire protested that Castiel was not, in fact, her babysitter, while Castiel protested that Claire did, in fact, need watching over. In the end, however, the teenager's pouty face won, and Castiel found himself accompanying Dean down to the surface of the K'sas system.

This planet was far less populated than Malaket, with far stretches of golden plains and a sky so vast that Castiel was amazed that it only took one sun to light it up. Dean landed the transporter near a small town, one he called "Purity."

"Strange name," Castiel murmured.

"Strange place," Dean replied, "I spent some time here growing up." He offered no further explanation, and Castiel didn't pursue it. Dean hadn't spoken of his childhood at all, and Castiel sensed it was best not to pry. He couldn't stop the pang of sympathy he felt for the other man, and absentmindedly he tugged the covering of the _nayrah_ , making sure none was visible.

The air on K'sas smelled of fresh-cut grass and newly turned soil. The roads were unpaved, the buildings ground-level, and the people dressed simply. Dean led Castiel toward the biggest building in town, a sprawling establishment called "Chuck's".

The inside of Chuck's appeared to be part general store, part saloon. A young man with dark hair and tan skin greeted them as they walked in. "Hi," he said, "I'm Kevin. Welcome to Chuck's."

Dean rattled off some supplies that the crew needed, and Kevin happily assisted them in locating the items. Castiel could see that the young man was eager to please, and he excitedly asked Dean questions about the places the captain had traveled and the cultures he'd seen.

"Have you ever seen a Crinis?" Kevin asked.

"Got one as my first mate."

The boy's eyes doubled in size. "That's awesome!"

After a few questions about the Impala and a detailed recounting of the specs of the S-Drive, Dean's shopping was complete. Kevin bundled all their items together, taking them to a table on the eatery side of the establishment. The young man dropped a jar of cooking oil, and when Castiel picked it up and handed it to him, he and Kevin made eye contact for the first time. The boy went a little slack-jawed, his eyes growing wide with recognition. Castiel immediately averted his eyes.

“You’re...you’re…” Kevin’s voice trailed off.

Dean moved between Castiel and the young man. Kevin, however, never finished his thought because a man, presumably Kevin’s boss, interrupted him. “He is my guest, Kevin,” said the man. The newcomer was several inches shorter than Dean, with short, light-brown hair and kind eyes. His eyes, like Castiel’s, were blue, but softer and more muted.

“Hello, Castiel,” he said. “I’ve been waiting a long time for you.”


	13. Golden Years (Dean POV)

Dean had heard stories about the Hel Emperor. Everyone had, though few had seen Crowley in the flesh. Dean couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath and he and Castiel left the protection of the base for the clearing outside its doors. He’d spent his entire life smuggling right under the nose of the Empire, and now he was about to be face to face with their supreme leader.

“What is funny?” Castiel asked. They stepped through the doors and into soft moonlight. Rebels pulled the latch closed behind them, but Dean knew that Castiel had scouts and snipers hidden throughout the surrounding forest. He still kept a hand on his blaster.

“Nothin’,” Dean replied. “I just never thought I’d end up here.”

Castiel nodded. “I know the feeling.”

“What, Malakin can’t see the future—”

Dean’s jest was cut short by a rumbling sound. A small ship, lighter and faster than one he’d ever seen, dropped out of the sky and hovered inches above the ground. The hatch opened, and a man hopped out. Except he wasn’t a man. As he approached, Dean could see that his skin was gray with twisted black markings. The creature pushed back a hood, revealing red eyes that flashed in the night, and cold dread snaked through Dean’s stomach.

This was a predator.

“Crowley,” greeted Castiel. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“I’m not here for small talk, little Malak,” said the Emperor, his voice deep and accented.

“Congratulations on finding the base. I know that you have searched long and hard for many years,” Castiel kept up the nonchalance, though Dean could feel his focus and intent.

“You made it easy for me this time,” replied Crowley. “You were distracted.” He turned his eyes on Dean.

 **_Hello, pretty boy_ ** **.**

Dean startled at the forceful push against his mind, the sheer ferocity of the Emperor’s thoughts inside his head. It was the complete opposite of what if felt like to have Cas’s consciousness surround him, and he tried his best to push it away.

 **_That’s not going to work. Your mind is feeble and weak. I don’t know what this little_  ** **_Malak sees in you._ **

"Crowley," Castiel growled. His hands were clenched into fists. "Stay out of his head. He is not part of this."

"You sure about that?" Crowley cocked his head, his eyes narrowing.

**_Perhaps it is your physique he finds attractive, or your brooding face. Or your skills as a fighter. What a shame your tiny brain—_ **

"Stop! Or there will be no parlay," Castiel warned, his voice a thunderous echo. "You have come to speak with me, not him."

Dean's hair stood on end, but not because of the emperor. Castiel hadn't moved from his side, but he somehow seemed taller, more imposing, and for a moment Dean thought he saw the shadow of immense wings on Castiel's back.

Crowley pursed his thin lips together, restraining either a smile or a frown. His thoughts left Dean’s head. "Very well. You know why I'm here. I can see it on your little baby face. Hand him over and I won't make your life miserable...today."

"You know that I will not do that," Castiel said. “If that is whom you seek, then you have come in vain.”

“The prophet will be mine, Castiel, and with him I will have the answers you have tried all your life to hide from me. Or do you think that I am blind to the threats that surround us all?”

“The threat of the Darkness does not change the fact that we will persevere in our cause,” Castiel stood his ground. “Your empire cannot continue to persecute and enslave citizens of this galaxy.”

Crowley laughed, a low chuckle that didn’t quite sound like it was coming from his throat. It shook through his body, his face contorting. “Your mission will fail. Your base is no longer secret, and your prophet...well, he’s already mine.”

Castiel’s back stiffened, and Dean could sense that he was rapidly searching through the minds of everyone inside the base. “What have you done, Crowley?”

“That’s Emperor Crowley, son. Leave politics to the big boys, hmm? See you soon.”

“What’s he talking about?” Dean muttered to Cas, unsure of why his own heart was beating faster than it should. Who was the prophet, and...why did he care?

“Crowley!” Castiel shouted, taking a few steps after the departing Hel Emperor. Dean grabbed his arm.

“Cas, what just happened?”

Castiel watched the ship lift up in the sky, gone as quickly as it had arrived.

“I do not know how he has done it, but...they took Kevin.” Cas turned to Dean, his eyes dark and troubled. “Kevin is a prophet, the key to the Rebellion’s success.”

“But we were standing right here. No one got past us, or your guards inside, Cas. He’s fucking with you—”

“I can’t feel Kevin’s presence, Dean,” Cas insisted. “I don’t know how they did it, but they must have taken him from his room. We have to find whoever is responsible. We must track his ship—”

A rustle sounded behind Dean, and before he could blink, Cas had shoved him to the ground, protecting him with his own body. Something whistled over their heads before thudding into a tree. “Stay here,” Cas whispered against his hair.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Dean asked as the weight lifted off his back. Dean leapt to his own feet, and drew his blaster from its holster, assessing the situation. Figures were coming out of the trees and into the clearing, carrying oddly formed bows nocked with twisted arrows. Their faces were thin, drawn, and warped, the skin stretched tightly over their bones. They looked like they might have once been human, but had been left out in the sun too long.

They moved slowly, like they were drunk and groggy—or, you know, dead—but their aim was good. Dean dodged two more arrow before hitting one in the chest with a ray from his blaster. Castiel was felling them one by one with a quick touch to their foreheads, but there were too many of them.

“Where did they come from?” Dean shouted as he shot two more, taking cover behind a boulder.

“I don’t know!” Castiel called back. “Behind you!”

Dean felt a bony hand on his shoulder, smelled the decay of rotting flesh, and twisted around to shoot the thing in the head. As the body fell to the ground, Dean took a better look. It had once been a young girl, no older than sixteen. Her hair was dark, like space without stars, and the skin on her arms looked like it was cracking. The crooked gaps in her flesh didn’t show blood or muscle, but pure black nothingness. A chill came over his body, settling where the thing had touched him.

“The Darkness…” he muttered. He looked past his hiding place. Castiel was surrounded by the creatures. Dean took aim, ready to take out as many of the motherfuckers as he could.

Before he could pull the trigger, Castiel cried out. “Close your eyes, Dean!” Castiel thrust his arms out, opening his chest wide to the night sky. Light began to pulse from his body, filling the dim clearing with a clear, bright glow. The once-humans shielded their eyes, stopping in their tracks. “Dean!”

Dean shut his eyes tightly, and crouched against the boulder. Even then, he could feel the brightness against his lids, and heat surrounded him. It didn’t feel threatening, but comforting. He wanted to open his eyes, to embrace the warmth, but he thought of the panic in Castiel’s voice and kept them closed.

When the heat receded, he felt footsteps coming toward him. The ground beneath his knees trembled and shifted. But the hand that descended on his head was gentle, and the voice the followed even sweeter.

“It’s over, Dean.”

Lips brushed across his forehead, each eyelid, his lips.

“It’s over.”


	14. The Long Song (Castiel POV)

"He's like you," Dean explained to Castiel. "That's why I brought you here."

"That's not entirely true," the smaller man said.

"You're not a..." Dean's voice trailed off and the captain's eyes shifted side to side, looking for possible eavesdroppers, "Well, you know."

The man laughed. "Not so much, no. Don't let the eyes fool you. But I have met Castiel's brother a time or two. Anyway, welcome to my place." He then invited Dean and Castiel to sit and share a drink with him. As anxious as Castiel was to put some space between him and Dean, his curiosity about the other man was stronger. The man—Chuck, he said his name was—had only been on K'sas for little more than a year, but in that time he had transformed the general store into a safe haven for travellers just passing through. "I used to be a writer," said Chuck, "But I never could get the story right, so I'm just here, seeing how things are gonna go."

Chuck and Dean engaged in a healthy debate about the differences between Rotuskan ale and Halberdish beer—Dean was firmly on "Team Halberdish," he said—and Castiel was left alone with his thoughts. The _nayrah_ was safely covered and out of sight, even if it was never far from Castiel's mind. He wasn't even sure if it could be seen on a planet with so much natural light. His fingers rubbed absently over the back of his wrist. Chuck noticed.

_-Castiel, the nayrah and the soul are not so different, you know.-_

The sudden connection startled Castiel. It wasn't cold like the one he shared with Billie, and while unfamiliar, it was as warm a connection as he shared with any of his brethren. - _Are you Malakin?-_

_-No, but you must know by now that the universe is bigger and more unexplained than Naomi would have you believe.-_

_-You know Naomi?-_

_-You could say that.-_

Chuck was able to carry on a verbal conversation with Dean without breaking concentration, and that impressed Castiel. Even some of the strongest Malakin weren't able to accomplish that feat. _-Why do you know so much about us?-_ asked Castiel.

_-Well, I'm kind of the Space Prophet.-_

- _What is a space prophet?-_

- _THE Space Prophet-_ Chuck corrected him. _-Anyway, I know things about things. And stuff.-_

Castiel looked at the so-called prophet with irritation. The man seemed to be deliberately non-specific and that bothered him. He turned his attention elsewhere. Kevin had returned to greeting customers; the boy's smile was bright and pleasant. People seemed genuinely pleased to see him.

 _-He's a good kid-_ Chuck said _-One of the best-_ Castiel could feel Chuck's sadness, his regret, and it was a powerful wave crashing over him.

 _-What happens to him?-_ Castiel asked.

Chuck projected an image of Kevin's lifeless body against a cold cement floor, eyes burned out, and every trace of that bright smile obliterated. It sent chills down Castiel's spine. _-Can it be stopped?-_

 _-Maybe-_ Chuck said _-The story isn't finished yet.-_

Castiel was torn. Gabriel had told him once of a way to alter timelines, but then had sworn him to secrecy. “Of all the secrets the Malakin keep, Cassie,” Gabriel had said, “This one is the most dangerous. If anyone knew...we would be hunted. Naomi is right about that, at least.” Still, Castiel felt the urge to offer to change Kevin’s fate; the boy was an innocent after all.

 _-It wouldn’t work.-_ Chuck told him. _-_

"Your guide will meet you in two days," Chuck told Castiel. He said it aloud, so that Dean could hear. He scribbled on the back of a napkin and handed it to Dean.

“Coordinates? Man, I thought Nepton was far. This doesn’t exist.”

“I assure you it does,” Chuck said. To Castiel, he projected an image of a tall gate in the midst of black. Castiel knew it to be the Void. _-You will find your guide there.-_ It sounded like a dismissal.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Castiel said to Chuck. “You have a lovely establishment.” He gestured to the rest of the store. From the corner of his eye, Castiel saw Kevin's smile falter. Almost simultaneously, he felt the freezing grip of evil, the same that had earlier violated his mind, enter into the store. It permeated the air, and when he saw the figure—who he could only assume was the mysterious Crowley—the evil felt thick, like oil sliding over his skin.

He was a Cullis, and the only interruptions of his dullish grey skin were the black markings that twisted from the top of his brow to the tips of his fingers in sharp jagged edges. “Hello, pet,” Crowley’s voice was raspy and heavily accented. “I do hope you weren’t waiting long; my associate took much longer than I anticipated to track your ship.” As if on cue, the man from the unsavory pub appeared, an over-compensating swagger in his step.

Beside Castiel, Dean stiffened. “Dick fucking Roman,” he swore under his breath. “I should have known.”

Dick Roman sneered at Dean. “Winchester, you owe me an S-Drive.”

“I don’t owe you shit.”

“We’ll see about that.”

The Hel Emperor sighed. “Wait outside, you miserable piratical twat,” he ordered. Dick Roman made a less than polite hand gesture before leaving the room. Castiel hoped it was the last that he would see of the man.

Crowley’s red eyes leered over them, roving the room before landing on Kevin. “Come here,” he called to the boy. Kevin reluctantly obeyed,  his eyes shifting to Chuck with a silent plea for assistance.

“Well, this wasn’t in the plan,” Chuck muttered under his breath.

The Cullus wrapped one long arm around Kevin’s shoulders. “Maybe you could answer a question for me,” he said. “Maybe you could tell me just how one little—rather pathetic, if I do say so—ship eludes the entirety of the Hel Empire.”

Kevin trembled as he replied, “I—I’m not sure, but it sounds kind of impossible.”

Crowley laughed, and the markings on his forehead stretched and darkened, and red poured out of his eyes in swirling mists. “Anything is possible, apparently,” he sneered. “Just look at these two.” He gestured to where Dean and Castiel stood. “A Malak and a merc: the universe’s idea of a cosmic joke.”

Dean’s hand inched toward the holster slung on his right hip. His fingers had just made contact with the grip when Crowley saw him. “Tsk, tsk,” the Cullus mocked. “Bad idea, Winchester.” Crowley wrenched his arms and snapped Kevin’s neck, letting the boy crumble into a lifeless heap on the floor. It wasn’t the vision Chuck had shown Castiel, but it was close enough to twist Castiel’s gut in horror.

“What the _fuck_!” Dean swore. “What did the kid do to you?”

“That wasn’t supposed to happen,” Chuck said. The Space Prophet looked...well, if Castiel had to guess, he would say frustrated.

Crowley looked at Chuck, and Castiel had the niggling feeling that it was not for the first time. “And this gospel of the kingdom will be proclaimed throughout the whole world as a testimony to all nations, and then the end will come,” Crowley hissed. “Well, Prophet, this is the end, isn’t it?”

Chuck gave a sad half-smile. “Not nearly.” With a blinding white light, the store faded away and Dean and Castiel were aboard the Impala again, the transporter docked securely.The supplies Kevin had so cheerfully gathered were stacked neatly beside them.  “What the _fuck_ ,” Dean swore again. “Can’t a guy get a little warning?” He glared at Castiel. “Tell that brother of yours not to do it again.”

“He is no brother of mine,” Castiel replied. And it was true. The connection he had formed with Chuck was different from than the one he shared with his brethren. Chuck had told him that he was a prophet, not a Malak, yet how was he able to transport them without the use of _aushath_?

“Where’d he go, anyway?” Dean asked. “And why’d he say that our guide’s gonna meet us in two days? How does he know that?”

“Not you, me,” Castiel corrected.

“What?”

“The guide will meet _me_ in two days.”

“Oh, well, that’s just great. How do you expect to find him or her or whatever?” The muscle in Dean’s jaw clenched, causing the vein in the captain’s neck to twitch. Castiel understood this to be a sign of anger, though the Malakin were less likely to exhibit this particular reaction. Dean moved closer, so close that Castiel could feel the man’s warm breath on his face. “How you gonna find the guide without _me_ , Cas?”

Before Castiel answered, Jody appeared in the cargo hold. “Hel Empire is here,” she told them. “We’re gonna need to leave... _now_.” Her yellow eyes narrowed, and she stood to her full height, which was at least a foot shorter than Dean, but the captain looked intimidated nonetheless. “Captain,” she said, “I get the feeling you’re not telling me something about our friend here.” Her head nodded toward Castiel, who looked away. “I don’t know what it is, but it better not put me or Jess or Bobby or Claire in danger, got it?”

 _Too late_ , thought Castiel.

Jody turned away, but she gave one last look over her shoulder, adding a smile that made her slightly-elongated canines seem vicious. “At least no more danger than the usual.”

Dean turned to Castiel. “This discussion ain’t over, Cas: I’ve just got to go evade the Hel Empire. _Again_.” He stormed away, the thud of his footsteps echoing long after he’d left the cargo hold.

* * *

 

Over the next few days, Castiel avoided Dean because of their tense discussion, hiding in the engine room. The Impala’s crew sensed the tension and left them alone. Even Jody stayed uncharacteristically silent. Dean stayed in the bridge, and according to Claire, he was “worse than a Dova on a hunger strike.” Castiel took that to mean that Dean was acting boorish toward his first mate and ward.

The engine room was hotter than was comfortable, but Castiel left his tunic wrapped tightly around him, the arm covering conspicuous. Bobby did not say anything—Castiel was noticing that Bobby did not speak much unless spoken to—but allowed Castiel’s presence in his workspace with begrudging silence. For several hours, Castiel sat in quiet attendance watching the Impala’s engineer at work, until Jody popped into the engine room and barked at Castiel to “make himself useful” to Bobby.

Being useful consisted of handing Bobby the tools he needed and engaging the man in conversation about the inner workings of the spacecraft. The core, Bobby said, was the heart of the ship. The ball of pure gamma radiation was channeled to various parts of the ship through what Bobby described as the ship’s circulatory system. The faster the ship went, the more gamma radiation was produced and channeled back into the heart.

“It sounds like a self-contained system,” remarked Castiel.

Bobby shrugged. “Kinda is, but here?” The older man gestured to his domain. “This? This is the brain; I tell the ship what to do with that energy from the heart.”

“So the heart and the brain work symbiotically.”

Bobby huffed. “Well, that’s one term for it.” He asked Castiel to hand him a torque wrench. “Look, it’s like you and Dean.”

“How so?”

Bobby tightened a couple of fasteners with the torque wrench, his eyes never straying to his hands. “Dean? That boy’s got heart. More than can fit in the galaxy, if you ask me. But he hasn’t had an easy life, and he’s got so much heart but nowhere to use it. And then he meets you.” Bobby applied the torque wrench to a bolt that wouldn’t tighten.

“What about me?”

“You didn’t know Dean before, but he was a wanderer. Good when he felt like it, but mostly just watching out for himself and his crew. That boy changed the moment he set eyes on ya. All that heart? It’s got a purpose now. You’re it.”

Bobby swore when he could not get the proper force behind the torque wrench and stood to apply more pressure to it. It still wouldn’t move, so Castiel offered to help. The bolt turned easily under Castiel’s hands. Castiel had not realized that his strength so exceeded that of a human’s. “Huh,” Bobby said. “Well, obviously I just made it easier for ya.” He set down the wrench. “I think I’m done for the day.” He clapped a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “Think about what I said.” Bobby glanced down at Castiel’s wrist. “And if this is what you’re hiding from Dean, you’d better start doing a better job of it or just tell him the truth.”

He left Castiel in stunned silence, the _nayrah_ glowing dimly in the yellow lighting of the engine room.

* * *

 

Castiel was rewrapping his arm when Dean entered his room. Since their tense discussion earlier, they had avoided each other, but now Dean stood in front of him practically crackling with anger.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said.

“So, are you going to tell me why you think you’re the only one leaving?”

“It is my brother, my journey to take.”

“What the hell, Cas?” Dean said through gritted teeth. “I literally fly you to the edge of the universe and now you’re going to just dump me here?”

Dean’s eyes were a little yellower when he was angry, Castiel noted. Castiel hurriedly finished covering the _nayrah_. “It is in the best interest of the Impala and her crew.”

“Fuck that.”

Castiel pulled his eyes away from his arm. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. _Fuck that_.”

“I assure you, I am leaving you and the crew so that you may return to your previous financial ventures in the mercenary profession. It is, as I said, in your best interest.”

Dean was shaking with anger. His hands, unsteady, pulled through his hair, ruffling it so that it stuck out in all directions. Castiel fought the urge to fix it. “Damn it, Cas. _Damn it._ ” Dean sucked in a long breath. “You should know that I won’t just leave you to go off on your own. _Fuck_.”

“Why shouldn’t you?” Castiel’s voice betrayed him with a tremor. “You owe me nothing. You have completed your half of our agreement, and I have compensated you. The transaction is complete.”

“Transaction? Transaction? Fuck. _No_. This is not a ‘transaction.’”

“No?”

“ _No_.” Dean was very, very close to Castiel now. “ _This_? More than a transaction, Cas. A helluva lot more.” And then Dean kissed him.

One kiss turned into another. And another. And another.

It felt like flying.

The first time Castiel flew, Gabriel had been with him. They had been standing on the edge of his _nava_ — it was still early: the second sun was just beginning to rise — with Castiel’s _aushath_ extended and trembling, while Gabriel attempted to soothe him into taking the plunge. “It’s muscle memory,” Gabriel had told him, “Your body already knows this. You were created to do this.” With a deep breath, Castiel had leapt, he had fallen, but then he had soared.

Kissing Dean gave him the same feeling—that he was falling and flying at the same time.

Kissing Dean also felt like something he been created to do, and Castiel could feel the light in him sparking, dancing—every atom singing and full of life.

Castiel didn’t have to look to know that the _nayrah_ was burning brightly.


	15. The Flame Still Burns (Dean POV)

Castiel ordered the whole of the base to search for the missing prophet—but only after both he and Sam had looked into their minds, combing for signs of someone who might have betrayed the rebellion.

Dean helped look for Kevin, though he couldn’t say why. He still didn’t understand why Kevin was important, although one look from Sam had been enough to shut him up. He asked his crew to aid in the search as well—Claire, Jody, and Jess were more than happy to repay Castiel for giving them food and shelter after their journey. Bobby agreed to help, although he gave Dean a look that said, “This ain’t our war, boy.”

Dean wasn’t so sure anymore.

Since the base was enormous, and there were enough soldiers to fill it nearly to the brim, the search took the rest of the night, and well into the following day. In the end, no trace of Kevin was found. It was as though he had simply vanished into thin air.

Dean had never imagined that such things were possible, but no one else seemed that surprised. Sam even seemed to take it in stride. “We’ll just seek our answers elsewhere,” he told his brother. “Castiel has a plan. He always does. Besides, they won’t kill Kevin. They need him, too.”

“What does this mean for us?” Jess asked later, at dinner.

Dean shoveled food into his mouth and glanced around the hall. Castiel was nowhere to be seen. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just that...well…” Jess looked at Jody, who leaned forward.

“We have work waiting for us. How long do you plan on staying here?” asked Jody.

“I…I need to talk to Sam about it. You know, brother stuff,” he said, sounding more confident than he felt. _Should I stay and help them look for this prophet guy? Or should I do what I said I would and leave well enough alone?_

That night, as Dean was washing his face in the basin, he heard a fluttering behind him. He glanced up into the mirror and almost choked on his own spit.

“Don’t _do_ that,” he said, turning to Castiel.

“I am sorry, Dean. I thought that you were already asleep.”

Dean dried his face on a towel. “And that makes popping magically into someone’s room less creepy? If they’re already asleep?”

Castiel tilted his head. “I suppose it does not.”

Castiel had materialized very close to Dean, and he could practically feel the rise and fall of Castiel’s chest. Dean thought about stepping even closer, about pressing his mouth to the pulse point at the nape of Castiel’s neck. But Cas took a step away before he could, and Dean straightened up, clearing his throat.

“So what’s up? Any leads on your prophet friend?”

“No. That’s what I came to tell you. I’ve come to bid you farewell.”

Dean was speechless for a moment. “Where are you going?” he managed to ask.

“I must journey to Malaket. I never though to return there, but there is information that I need. I thought I could do things on my own, but…” Castiel looked down at his shoes, looking forlorn and lost.

Dean took a deep breath. “And this information will help you find Kevin?”

“That. And other things as well. I—I have informed our flight security that you and your crew will depart tomorrow morning.”

“Don’t you need a ride to Malaket?”

“Once I would have been able to take myself, but now that my _aushath_ damaged, I am able to take myself only short distances at best. I have arranged for one of our pilots to take me to my home planet.”

“What? Why? I can take you.”

“I do not wish to infringe upon your status as a neutral citizen in this conflict. I will respect your wishes, Dean. You’ve done more than you promised back on Itheost, and I cannot ask any more of you. You’re free to go.”

Dean threw the towel down, a lot harder than was warranted. “You don’t tell me what to do, got it? I know I’m free to go, and I’m free to stay, too.”

“Dean—”

“This was more than just a job to me, okay?”

“That’s not what you said.”

“Yeah, I know—I’ve been nothing but an asshole to you, and I’m sorry for that, but let me help you. I’m good at my job, Cas. I really am. I can help you find your friend. Besides, I’ve only just been reunited with Sammy, and…” Dean cleared away the lump that had formed in his throat. “And I’m not ready for us to be apart again. Not when he’s doing something this dangerous.” He didn’t mention that the thought of Castiel facing the Hel Emperor again, or the zombie-like attackers, made his stomach twist.

“Are you certain that this is what you want?”

“Yes.”

“Then I must tell you: there is still one secret I have withheld, Dean Winchester.”

Dean’s pulse hammered in his veins. He could hear it echoing in his ears, a steady increase of pressure. “What secret?”

“I know that you have wondered why I can fly your ship. You are consistently curious about my _aushath_ , more so than any other human. You find yourself calling me ‘Cas’ although you do not know why or how you came up with the name.”

“So?”

“We have a history, Dean Winchester, although you do not remember it. You and I have what we call in my culture a profound bond. I know that you don’t want more secrets, that you are tired of what I have kept from you. But please understand—”

“What are you saying?” Dean stammered. “We’ve never met before.”

“Dean, please, I...I am trying to explain to you…” Castiel seemed at a loss for words, but he reached for Dean. A gloved hand rested on Dean’s heart, and Dean shuddered at the contact. “Don’t you feel it? You must.”

“Cas, I don’t...I don’t understand—” Dean said, even as that consistent warmth seeped into his chest. His eyes fluttered closed of their own accord, and his breath evened out as he suddenly knew without a doubt that somehow, Castiel was impossibly right.

"You, and me, and Sam, and the Darkness. We're all connected, Dean. I didn't mean to make you think that it's your fault your friends died, or that the Empire found the base. But it is true that the bond that you and I share has had its consequences."

"I don't know you," Dean insisted, even as his voice had lost its fire. He tried to open his eyes, but they were suddenly heavy. Whatever Castiel had done to him in the dining hall paled to what he was feeling now. There was confusion, yes, and lingering frustration and sadness. But it was swallowed, tamped down, stomped on by an overwhelming sense of familiarity. Castiel's hand was burning against his chest, through his shirt to his skin, to his very molecules.

"But _I_ know _you_."

Dean forced his eyes open, realizing that Castiel was even closer to him than before. “That’s impossible. You’re—”

“Playing a trick? Using my superpowers? No.”

“You are, it’s...it’s your hand, isn’t it? That’s why you always keep your gloves on, even while we fucked...” Dean was rambling, and he knew it, but the words poured out of his mouth before he could stop them. He grasped the hand on his chest, the leather of the glove smooth and seamless against his skin.

Castiel’s breath was on his face. “Dean, I promise you. This is real. It’s no magic trick. Soon you will understand everything.”

“Why do I feel like you’re lying?” Dean asked, even as he intertwined his fingers with Cas’s. His palm burned, but he wanted to touch Castiel everywhere. Those blue eyes were pinning him down, there was sweet breath on his face, and a tingling in his hand, his toes, his chest.

“I do not want secrets between us, Dean Winchester. I want nothing to keep us apart.”

* * *

 

Something was soft underneath Dean’s cheek, and he nuzzled against it. He was enveloped and warm, safer than he had ever felt. Arms were wrapped around him, but they didn’t feel quite like arms. They were better, stronger. He struggled to open his eyes against the heaviness of sleep, but as he did, the arms disappeared.

“Good morning,” Castiel whispered against his hair.

Dean looked up from where his head rested on Cas’s chest. Castiel looked as relaxed as he felt.

“Sleep well?”

“Um, yeah actually,” Dean said, his voice still thick with sleep. “You?”

Castiel smiled in reply, reaching down to place a small kiss on Dean’s parted lips. “You aren’t bothered by what I told you last night?”

Dean thought for a moment. He still didn’t understand what Castiel was talking about, but he couldn’t deny what he felt in the hollows of his chest. This was better than whiskey, better than flying, better than everything. “I don’t know yet,” he admitted, surprised to hear himself tell the truth. “There still so much that I know you aren’t telling me.”

Cas averted his gaze. “I wouldn’t know where to start, Dean. It’s a lifetime of things.”

The automatic retort didn’t make it past Dean’s lips. Maybe it was this “profound bond” thing, but he knew that Castiel wasn’t lying anymore. He could sense Castiel’s desire to share; it was overlaid with other emotions too, some that Dean hadn’t felt since childhood.

“Give me something. Anything,” he finally said. “You say you know me. Help me to know you, too.”

“There is one thing. Did you know I had a brother named Gabriel?”

 


	16. The House of the Rising Sun (Castiel POV)

Castiel slept better than he had since he left Malaket. Though he and Dean had gone no further than kissing, the captain had curled into Castiel's side, holding him close until Dean's breath evened out to one of deep slumber. At some point in the night, Castiel's arm wrap had fallen off. He awoke to Dean's careful examination of the glow on Castiel's left arm. "You didn't have this when we met," he murmured. "Is this like...you know?" Dean gestured to Castiel's shoulders.

"No," Castiel whispered. "This is different. The _nayrah_ is special to the Malakin."

" _Nayrah?_ That's a pretty name. What's it mean?"

Castiel hesitated. On one hand, he wanted Dean to know how dear he was to him, but on the other, Castiel knew that when this journey was over and he returned to Malaket, that there could be no future for them. He was a Guardian, and Guardians had long—and lonely, now that Castiel thought about it—existences with their duty at the forefront of their thoughts. Would it be fair to Dean to explain the _nayrah_ and then return to his duty?

"That's not why you're hesitating, Cassie, and you know it," chided Gabriel in his mind. "You're scared of rejection."

Castiel ignored Gabriel. "The closest translation I can come to is 'lamp.' It's a light, a reflection of who we really are." It was the truth, mostly.

"May I?" asked Dean.

Castiel nodded. He held his breath as Dean's fingertips skimmed ever so lightly over the glow, tentative at first and then with purpose. Dean’s touch was like drawing a first breath: Castiel felt alive. No matter how intimate they had been the night before, right now Castiel could see the whole of Dean’s soul. It was beautiful.

“Holy shit,” Dean breathed. “ _Holy shit._ ”

It felt like light, like the pure extract of life was being poured into him.  He thought of what Bobby had said, that Dean had too much heart, and now Castiel could see that it was true. All the love that flowed in Dean's soul—for his crew, his friends, his family—was as beautiful as a second sunrise on Malaket. It illuminated the best parts of Dean: the way he lead his crew with such integrity, the compassion he showed to the helpless like Claire, and the sincerity that accompanied every smile.

Underneath all the bright and harmonious colors of Dean’s soul, Castiel found something darker and sadder. It outlined everything that Dean was, like stormclouds cresting the horizon, painting a darker hue to the man’s past. The closer Castiel drew to it through their connection, the more sadness he felt. A profound sense of loss, not dissimilar from what Castiel felt for Gabriel, gripped Castiel. There also was recognition, the feeling that Castiel had known Dean, that Dean’s soul recognized Castiel. The way that Dean’s soul reacted to Castiel’s _nayrah_ , it was like a soldier returning from war and greeting their lover. Curious, Castiel traced this emotion, trying to find its root. It was burrowed deep in Dean’s soul, much deeper than the man would be aware of.

Castiel reached out, grabbing Dean’s left shoulder. A thunderous jolt shot through him,  starting in his fingertips and then consuming the rest of him. With it came a memory—it must have been Dean’s—of an outline of wings against a stark wooden wall, shattering glass, sparks flying, and a knife piercing flesh; it flashed through Castiel’s mind and left behind confusion. It left behind confusion because it all seemed so familiar, and yet Castiel knew it couldn’t be.

“That’s because there’s nothing new under the sun,” chirped Gabriel. “This is so season four.”

As usual, Castiel had no idea what Gabriel meant, and he focused on Dean instead. He heard Dean’s voice saying, “Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.” It was simultaneously next to him and also millions of lightyears away. He felt Dean’s hand still on his wrist, and his skin underneath his own fingertips.

“Intense, isn’t it, Cassie?” said Gabriel quietly. “There’s nothing like it in the universe.”

Castiel had never felt anything like it, and when Billie slipped into his mind a moment later, he hurriedly withdrew from Dean's touch, lest Billie be privy to a glimpse of Dean's soul, which Castiel guarded jealously.

 _-Castiel_ \- Billie called. _-It is time_ -

_-Now?-_

_-Yes, the guide is waiting for you. The longer you wait, the more likely the Hel Empire will find you.-_

“I must go,” Castiel said.

“Just like that? Right after...we...whatever that was?” Dean’s face was disappointed, and then it flashed to hurt. “You’re just gonna leave me?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, tracing Dean’s cheek with his thumb. “I have to. I’m sorry.” And then with a blur of his _aushath_ , he flew to the transporter bay.

* * *

 

“Cassie, you know, I think leaving lover boy behind was a really stupid idea. You could have been getting horizontal with him instead of trying to fly away to the sinkhole of the galaxy.”

_-I had to leave. I was endangering the crew.-_

“Bro, they’re mercs. They’re used to a little danger. Besides, didn’t you get the feeling that they wanted you to stay?”

Castiel thought back to the moment he’d left the Impala. He had not said goodbye to anyone except Bobby. Dean had been conspicuously absent and Bobby had slapped a hand to Castiel’s shoulder and gruffly said, “Take care of yourself, boy.” Bobby had tersely explained how to use the transporter and then Castiel was on his own. Leaving Dean had not been easy. After seeing Dean’s soul, Castiel wanted to stay with him, to learn everything about him. To take with him into the Void would be too dangerous, however.

Truly entering the Void felt a bit like suffocating. The transporter was small, little more than a class 6, and unlikely to survive in open space. The Void was built on a different set of rules, and, according to the coordinates Chuck had given him, was both in the galaxy and not.

“Cassie, we have a stowaway.”

Castiel knew that it was unlikely that someone had entered the ship without Bobby noticing, so the stowaway had his complicit permission to be aboard. “Dean,” said Castiel. “Why are you here?”

Dean stepped out of the recess, an apologetic smile on his face. “Couldn’t let you go alone, angel.”

“This is very dangerous, Dean.”

Dean shrugged. “Have you been to the gambling pits on Jaxor? That’s the most dangerous place in the universe.”

Castiel decided not to clarify that technically they were heading outside of the universe--and, indeed, outside of space and time as well. “Well, since you’re here,” Castiel said, “you can help me locate these coordinates.”

“Sure thing, angel.” The man took over the controls from Castiel, his fingers moving with practiced ease.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you are with me.”

* * *

 

The gates to the Void were dark and ominous, just as Chuck had shown Castiel. According to Dean, they were something “straight out of a horror flick”, though Castiel had no idea what that meant. There were a great many things that Dean said that Castiel had no reference for, and when pressed, Dean had no explanation to offer. “It’s just something to say,” Dean said with a shrug.

That did nothing to ease the tension growing in Castiel’s mind. The sight of the gates—seemingly carved from the most somber stone—made uneasiness pool in Castiel’s stomach; he could feel the unrelenting pressure of the dark all around him, a harsh whisper in his mind repeating, “Turn away. Turn away. Turn away!”

“Do we knock?” Dean asked, gesturing to the gates.

“No need,” came a solemn voice. A figure—tall, gaunt, and stern—appeared before them. It looked like a man, though Castiel could sense that it was much older, and more powerful than a human. That power radiated in every step the figure took, and the way that time and reality seemed to end at its feet as if hitting a wall.

“Who’re you?” asked Dean.

“I have many, many names,” replied the figure. He held one pale lamp in his hand, but the shadows of the Darkness repelled from the figure, casting a ghostly hue on its pale face. It was in the form of an old man, weathered yet severe. “I have been called the Horseman, or Azrael, or Yama, or Death.”

“How about I just call you Tim?” Dean remarked.

Castiel sent the captain an irritated glance. It seemed unwise to be sarcastic to a creature of such immense power.

“What?” said Dean. “It’s a common name. Easier to remember.”

“For now, in this universe,” said the figure,  “I am Billie’s employer. Her supervisor, if you will. You do not need my name.”

“Why are you here?” asked Castiel.

“To assist you,” the old man said. He beckoned them through the gates, which opened of their own volition and made no sound.

This surprised Dean. “Can’t imagine too many people pass through here,” he joked to Castiel.

“I doubt that the Void is bound to the same physical laws as the universe. It might make it an attractive tourist location.”

“Cas...did you just make a joke?”

Castiel smiled. There was just enough light from the _nayrah_ to see it. “Stranger things have happened.”

“The Void is no joking matter,” said the old man. He led Dean and Castiel into a building, which, on closer inspection, seemed to be carved on the same stone as the gates, but into a wall of darkness. The columns, which at one time must have been smooth, were now cracked and crumbling, and the tiled slabs of marble on the floor offered up plumes of dust with every step. At one time, thought Castiel, this would have been a palace.

 _-You are not wrong.-_ said the old man. The connection he formed with Castiel felt off, just as Billie’s had, but somehow was more deeply unsettling. The old man bade them to sit at a long table, filled with an abandoned feast that had no one to eat it. Dean and Castiel sat uncomfortably across from each other, and their host was content to let them sit in almost utter darkness, except for the light of the old man’s lamp, and the light comforted them both.

“Billie sent you,” the old man said. It wasn’t a question, wasn’t even a statement, it just was.

“Uh, yes sir,” said Dean.

“Did Billie explain the Void to you?”

Dean and Castiel exchanged a look. “No,” said Castiel, “But she implied that you would help me find Gabriel.”

“Ah, yes, Gabriel.” The old man’s voice held a tone of familiarity when mentioning Castiel’s brother’s name. "Gabriel is a complicated character," said the old man. "He is so much more than the Trickster he first appears to be. I must admit, though, your brother breaking into this prison was something I never expected to happen. After living as long as I have, that is truly remarkable."

Gabriel came here? Willingly?

"What do you mean 'prison'?" asked Dean. "Are we stuck here now? Imprisoned?"

The old man shook his head. "Of course you don't remember," he murmured. "That would be too easy, wouldn't it?"

"Would you please tell me about Gabriel?" pleaded Castiel.

The old man sighed wearily. "It may be easier to show you." He snapped his fingers, and Castiel saw the Creation of the Universe: he saw the Light, the same silver-blue shade of his _nayrah_ , and it enveloped him in a gentle, inviting warmth. He also saw the Darkness--the emptiness it held-- and he felt its struggle against the Light, like waves beating against the shore. And then the Darkness lost, and was contained, dammed into the Void like water.

"The Void is the prison," Castiel realized. "You trapped the Darkness here."

The old man nodded. “Nothing trapped in the Void can leave again, not even me. Your brother, though, he is not supposed to be here. Without your help, he could never find his way out again.”

“Why?”

The old man turned a cold eye on them. “No one enters the Void without my leave,” he said simply.

Dean snorted. “Gabriel did.”

“No one _leaves_ without it either. If someone can break in, something else can break _out._ ”

Dean’s lips formed a distinct “O” shape, but Castiel kept his focus on the old man. “Why are you helping us?”

“I have seen many, many, many endings,” he said, “But your story is nowhere near its end. It is just beginning.”

“Well, that’s cliche horseshit if I’ve ever heard it,” said Dean.

The old man chuckled. “Ironic you should say that.”

“How so?”

“What is a horse?” interjected Castiel.

“Precisely,” said the old man. “Now, if you’re done pestering me for the moment, perhaps you’d let me eat dinner before I send you deeper into the Void?” The old man offered them food and drink but Castiel did not feel much like eating. Dean’s appetite, however, was unaffected by the setting, his voracious appetite amusing the old man.

_-You know you’re going to regret not having anything to eat when you’re knee deep in Darkness-muck and missing your nava.-_

The connection with Gabriel reformed like a crack of lightning striking the ground, pouring into his mind and electrifying his senses. For the first time since he left Malaket, he could feel his brother, feel Gabriel in the space around him they way he could when he was at home. _-It’s not home anymore, Cassie.-_

The connection with Gabriel was just as short-lived as lightning, and the brief respite from his brother’s absence left a pain in Castiel’s head and an ache in his heart.

The old man looked at Castiel with pity in his eyes. “Your brother is lost,” he said to them.

“Lost?” asked Castiel. “How do I find him?”

The old man told Dean and Castiel that the Void was not physical, not abstract, but rather a combination of the two. “It exists outside of time and space, and I am its keeper.” He explained that travel within the Void defied logic. “You’ll only get where you’re headed if you seek what you do not want to see.”

“Cryptic crap,” Dean said.

“I said I would help you,” replied the old man. “I never said how much.”

He led them to a second set of gates—these were no less ominous than the first—and left them with the lamp and one last warning. “The Darkness is contained within the Void,” he said, “but I have no control over it.” He bade them goodbye.  “I can go no further,” the old man announced. He stood rigid, as if he were made of stone. _-You will find your brother through those gates. I can sense his despair. It is almost greater than the darkness.-_

“Last chance to turn back,” Dean said.

There was no turning back, Castiel thought. Not without Gabriel.

The lantern lit the path before them. It was barely more than a walkway, and judging by the layer of dust, it wasn’t one that was often used. After a few minutes of walking, Dean reached for Castiel’s hand; the Darkness was so thick that he must have feared that they would be separated. “Cas,” Dean whispered, “I see my mother.” His voice sounded broken, pained.

Castiel did not see Dean’s mother, but he did see his brethren falling from the sky, blazing like falling stars onto unfamiliar terrain. Somehow, Castiel knew that it was his fault. His heart broke for his brethren. _-Brothers-_ Castiel cried out, his _nayrah_ reaching toward theirs.

They could not hear him.

The scene changed. He watched himself smite (smite? What a peculiar word) his brethren, and delighting in it. He saw himself rejecting his brethren and their Father (Father? They had no Father), and leaving their home, leaving it all, over and over and over again.

_-This is not my story.-_

_-Oh, but it is, Cassie. It is.-_

The connection with Gabriel surged back to life, and the Darkness seemed less oppressive because of it.

 _-Cassie_?-

Castiel saw in his mind his brother’s death—though it wasn’t his brother as he had ever seen him—killed over and over and over, replaying once, replaying twice, a thousand times. He watched as Gabriel faced another man—whose face was speckled and marred and decaying—that he called brother, taunt him and then destroy him. _-I know you think you’re doing the right thing, Gabriel, but I know where your heart truly lies.-_ As Castiel watched the other man—Lucifer, Gabriel called him—slide the silver blade into his brother’s gut, Castiel felt relief that his brother had not been slaughtered at his own hands, and deep shame that he could not prevent it.

He regretted so many things; he remembered times on Earth when he felt the same. _-Earth? When was I on Earth?-_ The Darkness pulled at him, engulfing him, telling him _go back, go back, go back._ His _aushath_ ruffled under his skin, itching to take him away from the Void.

 _-Follow the regret. Find the thing you don’t want to think about.-_ It was the old man’s voice.

Castiel felt weak, felt dizzy. He regretted not eating what the old man had offered.

_-I told you so.-_

Dean’s right hand gripped Castiel’s left shoulder, gripped it tight. “Cas? You okay?”

In a rush, centuries of despair, longing, and grief poured into Castiel’s mind until he could scarcely breathe. He saw a battlefield overtaken by the Darkness; he watched as he leaned over Dean’s cold, broken body. He saw that he could not save Dean.

_-Not easy to watch, is it Cassie?-_

_-Gabriel_?-

His brother was there, stretched out, weak, and collapsed on the cold, dank ground. This despair was in some part Gabriel’s; Castiel could feel it.

“Hey, Cassie,” Gabriel said softly. His brother sat up as best as he could. Dean reached down, helped Gabriel to stand. _-Got yourself a good one here, Cassie.-_

“Hey sweetcheeks,” Gabriel said to Dean, “It’s real nice to see you again.”

“Sweetcheeks?” Dean asked. There was just enough light to show Dean’s confusion.

“Long story,” replied Gabriel. “Involves time travel, apocalypses, love triangles—like _Twilight_ but less vampires.”

“There’s no time travel in _Twilight_ ,” remarked Dean.

Gabriel cracked a half-smile. “So you’re starting to remember. Good, because we’ve got work to do. No? Not that one yet? It’s okay; you’ll get there.”

_-Gabriel? What is happening?-_

_-I guess it’s time for you to hear my story, baby brother.-_ He latched on to Castiel through their connection and thrust them into a world Castiel had only heard about: Earth.


	17. Highway to Hell (Dean POV)

It was a crazy story, that was for damn sure. But the way Cas talked about his brother Gabriel...well, Dean understood. He thought about Sam, and how he would do anything to find him in a situation like that, if Sam were in a prison outside of space and time. He knew that Cas couldn’t make this shit up.

“Is there more?” Dean asked as they ate breakfast together in a corner of the dining hall. Some of the crew kept sending him sly glances and winks, but he studiously ignored them; at least, as much as he could. He could practically feel Claire rolling her eyes in teenaged disgust.

“Yes,” Cas answered simply. “Your own memories, though...they will continue to return on their own. It’s already started.”

Dean opened his mouth, but was interrupted. “Sir?” It was a soldier, one Dean hadn’t seen before. “Any orders on what we should do in your absence? You didn’t specify—”

“Hannah and Samuel have their instructions. You must follow them,” Castiel assured the man.

The rebel walked away, and Dean noticed that he was limping from an old injury. Dean leaned over his plate. “And what are these instructions? To evacuate, I hope.”

“Yes, first thing. There is a small moon not far from here. It is dark and cold, but habitable. The Empire will expect us to go far away, not stay...what’s the phrase? Close to home. Although they may come back and attack again, sooner rather than later. Either way, we aren’t safe here.”

“What were those things we fought, anyway? They didn’t seem really…” Dean shuddered, his spine tingling uncomfortably at the memory of those thin empty faces and cracked shell bodies.

“Alive?” Cas filled in. “They weren’t. But I’m not sure what they were. I’ve never seen their like before, even in all my travels. Perhaps what I seek on Malaket will shed light on that, as well.”

“Cas, I gotta talk to you,” Sam appeared over Dean’s shoulder.

“Oh, now everyone’s doing it,” said Dean. “You coin one little nickname, and before you know it—”

“Dean, it’s serious. I think you should hear it, too, especially if you’re actually going to stick around.” Sam sat at the table, his long legs barely fitting underneath. “We got reports from two scouts this morning that the moon isn’t an option anymore.”

Cas shook his head. “It’s the best option.”

“Well, it’s kind of not there anymore.”

Dean chuckled. “Where did it go?”

“I’m not joking, dude.” (Dean frowned at the strange word, but kept listening.) “The whole moon disappeared.”

Castiel pushed his plate away. “The Darkness. It is beginning to consume the edges of the galaxy.” He turned his sad eyes to Dean. He didn’t have to mention the Roadhouse.

"I checked every database this morning, looking for anything related to this ancient force. Based on that, and what you’ve said, Cas, it will only continue to eat up the edges of the universe as we know it," Sam said. "We've got to stop it."

Castiel's jaw was set, but Dean couldn't tell if it was in anger or determination. "We will. But first you must relocate everyone, Sam. Do you understand? Find another moon. Dean and I will go to Malaket, but I trust we will be back before the transfer is complete.”

"Don't worry, Hannah and I got this." Sam clapped Dean on the shoulder as he stood. "Oh, and Dean? Welcome to the rebellion."

* * *

 

Castiel pulled Dean away to the armory after breakfast where they geared up.

“My original plan was to have a stealth pilot take us to Malaket, but with the evacuation, that is no longer an option,” Castiel explained. “Choose a weapon; I fear we may need them.” Dean took an extra blaster, tucking it into the waistband of his pants, while Castiel picked up two long, gleaming silver knives.

Dean eyed the weapons. “Knives? Seriously? What about your crazy mojo?” He thought of the times Castiel had simply touched his foes and they had fallen to the floor, or crumbled into ashes.

“This is the only way a Malak can kill another Malak,” Castiel said.

“Woah, hold on—” Dean touched Castiel’s gloved hand. The blade gleamed, even in the low light. “What do you mean kill? I thought this was your home?”

“It is— _was_. But I’m no longer welcome there. This will be a mission of some stealth.” Castiel slipped the weapons into the sleeves of his coat. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah, I guess, but Cas—I thought we were going somewhere where people weren’t trying to kill us for a change. Is there anything else I should know?”

“Yes.” Castiel put a hand on Dean’s hip. “Stay close to me.”

Dean grabbed onto Castiel’s shoulders and closed his eyes with seconds to spare. The armory disappeared, and they were standing on something soft and slippery. Dean could feel a light breeze on his face, something full of salt and summer. His stomach was churning a bit from being pulled so violently through space, but he managed to open his eyes.

“This is Lake Agan,” Castiel murmured in Dean’s ear, his breath a soft tickle against his skin. “It is one of my favorite places on Malaket.” He stumbled when he tried to walk toward the city.

“Are you okay, Cas?”

Castiel sat down on the grass. “I’m sorry; I need a minute. Using the _aushath_ is quite painful for me now. The last time I traveled so far, it took me months to recover. I’ve learned to compensate some now, but it is still difficult to fly long distances.”

“What happened?” Dean gestured to Castiel’s shoulders.

Cas smiled, but it was sad. “Sometimes sacrifices must be made for those we love.”

A vast body of water spread out in front of them, shallow waves lapping up against the shore. Dean turned, taking in the view. Everything around them was green and blue and bursting with pure life, color, and energy. Dean thought of how the Darkness could destroy it, absorb all its goodness and beauty until there was nothing left. “It’s amazing,” was all he could bring himself to say.

“Yes,” Cas agreed. “Now, to work. Remember to stay as close as you can.”

Dean followed him away from the shoreline and toward a cluster of trees. Instead of admiring the scenery, he sharpened his gaze, searching for Malakin. He didn’t see anything that looked out of the ordinary, though, and wondered mildly why the natives of Malaket weren’t out enjoying the stunning day. He hadn’t seen a sky or weather like this since...well, ever.

Cas halted, and Dean nearly ran into him. “We can access the library this way. There won’t be anyone guarding these old tunnels.” He waved his hand, and the earth beneath their feet gave a slight shudder. A trap door, enveloped by earth and moss, became visible. He pulled the rusted handle, and with a heavy groan, the door in the ground opened to reveal a pitch-black hole.

“After you,” Dean said, eyeing the tunnel entrance. “Um, you guys don’t have spiders on this planet do you?”

Cas tilted his head. “Of course we do. In order to function as a well-balanced eco-system in this galaxy—”

“Okay, okay, wise guy. Let’s go.”

The tunnel was dark, but Cas seemed to know where he was going, so Dean held onto his shoulder and trusted that he wouldn’t trip on anything creepy. Their footsteps echoed, betraying the old stonework beneath their feet. He thought about asking what the tunnel was for, why it was now apparently abandoned.

The tunnel began to slope upwards, and Dean’s thighs began to burn with the effort. As he opened his mouth to complain, Cas stopped in his tracks. “We’re here.”

“Okay. What’s the plan?”

“We’ll be looking for the oldest tome in the library. I don’t know what it’s called, or what it looks like, but Naomi used to quote it sometimes.”

“Tome? Like, an actual book?”

“Yes.” Dean could hear the exasperation in Castiel’s voice. “It’s how Malakin have kept records since the beginning of time. We don’t require digital archives.”

“And what about your, uh, friends?”

Cas’s hand found Dean’s in the dark and squeezed. “They ought to be at communion in the Temple. The only ones not there will be on duty tonight, far from here.”

Light flooded the tunnel, and Dean squinted before following Castiel into a large room with a high, carved ceiling. Each wall was covered with books, shelves upon shelves of dusty pages. “Woah…” Dean turned on his heel, admiring. “I’ve never seen anything like this. How the fuck are we supposed to find what you’re looking for?”

“Dean, please do not curse in here.” Castiel’s voice was reverent as he began to look over the titles on the shelf nearest to him. “You’ll know it when you see it.”

 _You might_. Dean sighed, and started to look over a shelf of his own. Most of the titles made no sense whatsoever. Some were even in languages he had never seen before. He had no idea what he was supposed to be looking for, so he let his eyes wander, but kept his ears sharp in case one of Castiel’s old compatriots decided to drop by.

 _The Count of Monte Cristo_. _A Brief History of Time_. _Ficciones_.

Meaningless to him, but pretty. Dean was considering pocketing one of the smaller volumes to take back to Sam, who would actually appreciate where they were, when one title caught his eye.

 _Bereisheet, or, the Story of the Genesis_.

It was in his hands before he could think twice. He opened it to the first page.

**In the beginning God created the Heavens and the Earth. Now the Earth was formless and empty, Darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters. And God said, “Let there be Light,” and there was Light. God saw that the Light was good, and he separated the Light from the Darkness.**

He opened his mouth to tell Cas that this book was probably important, that it made his throat tighten and his chest expand with unexplainable need to know _more_ , when his mind was bombarded with images. A young boy with a kind face was smiling at him, trusting him. Sam was there too, but he wasn’t Sam, he was different somehow. And with a touch of Sam’s hand, the boy was dead, his eyes burnt out of his skull.

“Dean!” Castiel shook him hard, dislodging the strange vision. Dean snapped the book closed. “Are you okay?”

“Did you see that?” Dean asked. “Did you put that in my head? What _was_ that?”

“Keep your voice down. I didn’t put that there, but I saw glimpses of it. You’re seeing an old memory, from your other life. The one we spoke about.”

“Who was that kid? Why did my brother kill him?”

“That young man was Kevin. And that wasn’t Sam, he was being possessed—”

“ _Possessed?_ ”

“It’s…” Castiel looked lost, searching for words. “It’s a long story. But that young man and the prophet we seek to save now are one and the same. He met his end in the past, many times, and we can’t let it happen again.”

“I don’t understand. How did this book…” Dean looked down at the bound bits of ancient paper in his hand.

“Dean?”

He handed the book to Castiel. “I have a sinking feeling that this is the book you’re looking for.”

Cas turned it over, and traced the title with his forefinger. “Genesis...Genesis...I know this name. I think it’s in a book that Gabriel had, once. In the—”

“Great. Now let’s get the fuck out—”

A thudding sounded from beyond the enormous double doors at the far end of the library. Footsteps came closer, and distant voices echoed. Dean grabbed one of Castiel’s sleeves. “Cas, c’mon. Zap us outta here.”

Castiel nodded, but didn’t move.  

“What’re you waiting for?” Dean whispered, the voices and steps coming closer. They sounded angry. Dean heard a bang, a clash, and something that sounded like blasters with poorly made silencers attached. “We have your damn book, now let’s go!”

“Something is wrong,” Cas said, shoving the book into a pocket. “They should still be in the Temple.”

“Cas, wait—”

But Castiel had already torn himself away, and with a flick of his fingers, the library doors burst open. Beyond the doors, in a beautiful circular courtyard, were a mixture of caedes, Hel soldiers, the strange desiccated creatures who had attacked the Base, and tall beautiful people whom Dean could only assume were Malakin—all in various stages of a fight, and some lying motionless on the cobblestones. Dean couldn’t see Crowley, but he could only imagine that the Emperor had given the order to attack the peaceful planet. And Castiel was charging right into the middle of it.

“Damn it.” Dean drew his blaster and followed Cas through the doors. The Malakin were all fighting with short blades, like the ones Cas carried, or their bare hands, touching soldiers on their heads until they fell to the ground. Dean took cover behind a pillar, and shot three Hel soldiers down in quick succession. A few of the Malakin gave him glances of surprise, but seemed to know that he was on their side...whatever that was.

A humming came from overhead; Dean didn’t need to look up to know that it was a Class 2 ship, probably loaded with more soldiers and more weapons.

Dean kept Castiel in his peripheral vision. He didn't understand why Cas and the other Malakin weren't just slaughtering the intruders with their light-like mojo. "Of course they would have to do it the old-fashioned way," Dean muttered as he shot down another soldier. He checked the charges on the blasters, and cursed when he saw that the one he'd grabbed from the armory was already low.

A white-hot pain burst through the right side of his skull, turning the world into a blur. Dean slid to his knees, trying to see who had struck him, but his eyes couldn't focus, _wouldn't_ focus. His breath came faster as he realized that this might be the end—

And then he saw the face again. Kevin, the so-called prophet, was looking up at him in full-fledged admiration. They were standing somewhere else, not on Malaket, not even in this galaxy, and Dean was dressed in a jacket he'd never seen before. It was a different time, a different space, than the vision he'd had moments ago in the library, but Dean already knew what he was going to see.

It wasn't Sam this time, but Emperor Crowley, dressed in equally strange clothing, who sends Kevin to the ground with a twist of the boy’s neck.

Kevin's gasp echoed in Dean's ears and he realized he was crying for the young man, for the loss of a life that was somehow his responsibility. His stomach was churning in distress, and he wished he could vomit to get rid of the feeling.

It was over as quickly as it had begun. He opened his eyes. His head throbbed, and a gentle hand pressed against it. Castiel whispered something in a language Dean didn't know, and the pain disappeared.

"Are you alright?" Castiel asked. Dean realized that Castiel was holding him close on a cold floor somewhere.

"Um...I don't know," Dean said. "Where are we?"

"The moon Sarhon. There's an old military bunker down here where some of our forces can take shelter. I've warded the place so that no Hel soldier may enter."

"What happened?"

"You were hit on the head by a caed," Castiel's eyes became like ice. "I killed him. I flew us here. I do not know how the fight ended, but I...I had to get you to safety, Dean."

“Are you okay?”

“I am tired, but with some rest I will be fine provided I do not use my _aushath_ again soon.”

Dean tried to see more of the room from the confines of Castiel's embrace, but could only make out plain grey walls. "Why was your planet attacked?"

"The Empire has long left Malaket in peace, as we are neutral guardians. My only guess is that they seek some of our relics, our spells, our power."

"Cas, I—" Dean shook his head, trying to understand. "I saw him again. The kid. He died."

Castiel traced a frown line on Dean's forehead. The leather glove was like warm silk on Dean's tender skin. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Why does he keep dying? What did he do? Why do I keep _seeing_ it? I don't want to see it." Dean could hear the desperation in his voice, and loathed it.

Castiel sighed, and didn't look like he wanted to answer. Dean struggled to sit up, pulling away from Castiel.

"Fine. Don't tell me," Dean shook his head. "You said I'd remember all this wibbly wobbly shit on my own, right? Fine."

"All that matters is saving the prophet _now_ , not back then," Castiel insisted, getting to his feet.

"So how do we stop it, then? How does that damn book help us against the Empire, or the Darkness?" Dean stood on his own, not bothering to hide the anger in his voice, or brush the dust from his clothing.

"I glanced through it while you were asleep," Cas admitted, pulling the worn tome from his pocket. "It tells how the Darkness was shut away into the Void, and how there are those who worship it."

"People worship that...that thing?"

"Yes. They give themselves to the Darkness, and it absorbs them, creating the shells of what once was. Those are the beings that attacked us on Nivay, and today on Malaket. They are what is left after the Darkness has had its fill."

Dean shuddered. "That's disgusting."

"Yes, it is." Can looked down at the book. "Unfortunately, Genesis doesn't tell us exactly how to defeat the Darkness. Only that it must be shut away in the Void through the sacrifice of a righteous man."

"Wait, wait..." Dean touched his head where there should have been a gash and oozing blood. There was nothing, not even phantom pain. "If those things are Darkness worshipers, what are they doing with Hel soldiers?"

Castiel's mouth flattened into an unhappy straight line. "There can only be one explanation: the Emperor. He is in league with the greatest enemy the galaxy has ever faced. And we have no way to stop it."


	18. Renegade (Gabriel POV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, this chapter is neither Dean nor Castiel's POV, but Gabriel's. So, new POV, new verb tense, because why the fuck not? (We like a challenge.)

Really, it’s the lions that do him in. The Tower of Babel? The Flood? Sodom and Gomorrah? Horrible, but his brothers told him not to intervene. But this time, it’s a child. A lonely child facing lions. A child of one of their Father’s believers, condemned to die in a public arena for sport.

“Do not intervene,” warns Michael. His older brother brandishes his sword; it’s a warning.

“Fuck off, Michael,” he says.

He rescues the child.

He doesn’t go home.

* * *

 

The first time he sees the Winchesters, he thinks, “Amateurs.” It’s been a few decades since a hunter had figured him out and he figures he might as well enjoying screwing with these two because, hey, they’re kinda cute and he’s bored. (He’s been bored since September 2, 1666, but who’s counting?)

He doesn’t expect them to _actually_ almost kill him (well, if he were actually just a trickster and not an archangel, they would have actually almost killed him), and he’s also not expecting the tall one to have such distracting dimples.

Winchester?

He knows he’s heard that name before.

He keeps an eye on the brothers.

* * *

 

“Why are you doing this?” Sam demands.

The tall one sounds angry. He supposes it’s because Sam has just watched his brother live through _1000 Ways To Die_. Although he tells Sam that he didn’t mean to lure the brothers into this town, the truth is that he’s been watching them, and he knows now what they were born to be. He sees the demon blood lurking in Sam, set at 450 degrees and baking until big brother Lucy shows up. He doesn’t want Lucifer to come back—mostly because it will ruin the party but also because he doesn’t want to see Lucy’s smile next to Sam’s dimples.

So he laughs and he tells Sam that it’s fun. The pain etched into Sam’s brow is something that Gabriel will never forget. “How long will it take you to realize,” he asks Sam, “That you can’t save your brother?”

The prank should end then, Gabriel knows, but he sees that Sam doesn’t get it yet. He lets Dean die and he watches for months as Sam falls apart. He’s not sure why he cares so much, except he needs to prove a point. “This obsession to save Dean? The way you two keep sacrificing yourselves for each other? _Nothing good comes out of it._ Just blood. And pain,” he tells Sam. “Dean’s your weakness. Bad guys know it, too.” He doesn’t tell Sam that he’s counting himself as one of the bad guys right now.  “He’s gonna be the death of you, Sam. Sometimes, you just gotta let people go.” He’s not wrong. If Lucifer gets his way, everything that Sam _is_ will die.

“He’s my brother,” Sam says.

The way Sam’s jaw clenches to keep from crying reveals the slightest bit of a dimple. Gabriel hasn’t seen those since Dean stayed dead. He finds he doesn’t care for the idea of Sam never being smiley and dimply again.

“Please...just...please,” Sam finishes.

Though he disguises it under a litany of complaints, he just wants Sam to be happy again.

He’ll deal with Lucifer when the time comes.

* * *

 

Gabriel senses that Big Brother Lucy is restless.

He hears rumors of Lilith. He sees more blacked-out eyes than any former servant of the Lord would feel comfortable with. He feels when Dean is resurrected from Hell; the angel radio is full of chatterboxes.

He checks on Sam—not that Sam knows he’s there, of course—just after Dean’s taken away by hellhounds. Sam is despondent, alone, staring blankly at the ugly wallpaper in a dingy motel room.

If three pizzas appear half an hour later, courtesy of an anonymous donor, Gabriel will never tell.

* * *

 

The Knight Rider thing may have been a little far, in retrospect, but he wants to have this conversation without having to look Sam in the eyes. “Nice rims,” he says to Car-Sam.

“Eat me,” says the car.

He’s not surprised that the Winchesters figured out that he’s an angel; he _is_ surprised, however, that Dean’s first demand—after they figure out that he’s an archangel—once they trap him in holy fire, is that he brings back Castiel. He sees the way Castiel looks at Dean, sees the stubborn affection in Dean’s soul and thinks, “ _Well, isn’t that sweet?”_

He started this little escapade in TV Land to show the brothers that there’s no escaping destiny: they are going to be Michael and Lucy’s E-Ticket rides to the end of the world, so he might as well have a front row seat. (A not-so-secret part of him _knows_ that the best way to convince the Winchesters _not_ to do something is to tell them to do it.)

“This isn’t about a war,” he tells Sam and Dean, “This is about two brothers that loved each other and betrayed each other.”

He hopes that the subtext isn’t so subtext that they’ll understand the parallels he’s drawing, but he isn’t the writer in the family. That’s always been his Father.

He knows he isn’t supposed to tell them _why_ they’ve been chosen to be Michael and Lucy’s meatsuits, but he hasn’t been playing by the rules for about 4,000 years. “You were born to this, boys,” he tells the Winchesters, “It’s your destiny!”

He hopes he sounds ominous and douchey enough that they’ll do the exact opposite of what he’s telling them to do, because, really, he could wait another few millennia for the next family reunion. He isn’t lying when he says to the brothers, “We knew it was all gonna end with you.” He looks straight in Sam’s eyes, sees the regret, the anger, and the fear in them. “ _Always_.”

“No,” Dean says stubbornly. “That’s not gonna happen.”  
“I’m sorry.” He is, really. “But it is.”

When the boys leave him alone in the abandoned warehouse, sprinkler system raining down on the holy fire, Gabriel knows that the boys will reject anything that they can’t choose of their own free will. And now that he’s revealed as one of Daddy’s favorite toys (ohhh, that sounds bad)? His days of neutrality are numbered.

“Heaven or hell?” Dean had asked him.

Dean might as well have asked him to choose between Michael or Lucifer, or between his wings and his grace. Or between Dean and Sam.

He thinks of the sadness lingering behind Sam’s eyes.

It’s a choice he’s unprepared to make.

* * *

 

He goes back to Kali.

He loves her, he does. She’s fire and destruction and brings excitement to a world that has long since lost its allure.

Kali is safe, ironically. She’s the sure thing.

He doesn’t notice that Kali doesn’t have dimples.

He doesn’t.

* * *

 

When it comes down to it, it’s instinct. His Father had created him to protect creation, so he protects Kali, protects Dean, protects Sam.

“Not this time,” he tells Lucy. He helps Kali up off the floor of The Elysian Fields. “Guys?” He calls back to Sam and Dean. “Get her out of here.” It’s an excuse to get them to leave; he knows very well that Kali could destroy the building with little more than a thought. She knows what he’s doing—of course she does—and she goes without argument.

Lucifer looks terrible—like a worn out steak, chewed up and spit out—and he smells even worse than he looks. His vessel’s flesh is beginning to rot, the egotistical evil lurking inside was never meant to be contained inside a normal human.

“Over a girl, Gabriel? Really?” taunts Lucifer. “I mean, I knew you were slumming but...I hope you didn’t catch anything.”

Lucifer’s borderline acidic humor had always been his favorite thing about his older brother, but he’s wrong. This is about so much more than a girl. “Lucifer, you’re my brother and I love you, but you are a great big bag of dicks.”

Damn, that feels good to say.

The more Lucy taunts him, the more Gabriel wants to slap him. It’s somewhat comforting to know that the sibling rivalry is still there. Lucifer, the Morning Star, the apple of Dad’s eye, is _supposed_ to be the best of them. This millennia-long temper tantrum sends an intense flare of disappointment through Gabriel. And Lucifer calls _him_ disloyal? _He_ didn’t try to kill Dad’s new creations. _He_ didn’t try to control the universe. All he did was take a break from the fighting, from the bloodshed, from Michael’s everlasting insistence that “following orders” was what Dad would want from him.

“Oh, I’m loyal,” Gabriel blurts out. “To them.” He’s picked his side, and he wants big brother to know it.

“To who? These so-called gods?” Lucifer scoffs.

Gabriel’s spent time with hundreds of gods. They’re nothing special, and they usually come with an unhealthy dose of narcissism.

“To _people_ , Lucifer,” he corrects. _“People.”_ People like Sam.

“So you’re willing to die for a pile of cockroaches? Why?”

“Because Dad was right.” He thinks of Sam, resisting the Devil for almost a year. “They are better than us.”

Lucifer calls humans “broken, flawed, abortions.” Gabriel thinks that their flaws are what make them better than the angels. “A lot of them try to do better. To forgive,” he tells Lucifer.

He can hear Sam praying, can hear his pleas for Gabriel to get out before it’s too late.

 _It’s been too late, Samsquatch._ He’s picked his side.

“Brother don’t make me do this,” begs Lucifer. His eyes glint a little yellow. It could be from tears. Gabriel doubts it.

“No one makes us do anything.”

“I know you think you’re doing the right thing, Gabriel,” Lucifer says. His brother looks at him with something like pity reflecting in his eyes, but Gabriel doubts that the devil is capable of that.

Gabriel’s real self—not the illusion he’s showing Lucy—raises his hand to strike his brother down. He knows he’s doing the right thing, and he doesn’t hesitate.

“But I know where your heart truly lies.” Lucifer’s blade slides into Gabriel’s gut, and sure, Gabriel’s got a lot of regrets, but all he can think of is that he’ll never see Sam’s dimples ever again.

* * *

 

He’s not sure why Naomi keeps books about Earth. It’s a fairytale—or a nightmare, depending on who you ask—and she doesn’t let anyone _read_ the books anyway. Not that anyone _could_ ; they’re practically gibberish. Yet he spies a whole collection of them one time when he visits her workspace in the Temple—another lecture about how the Malakin weren’t meant to interact with the rest of the galaxy, blah blah blah—and when she’s eyeball-deep in her spiel on proper Malak decorum, he snags one with his _aushath_.

He takes it home, drops it on a table, and forgets about it.

Later, he knocks the book on the floor when he accidentally high-kicks the table during an impromptu dance party. It’s flipped open to the center, to a page that’s got a piss-poor drawing of two human men wearing a hideous plaid print. The man on the right, his hair is drawn as long and flowing, reaching well past his shoulders. Gabriel snickers and thinks of ten different jokes about the luscious locks, and then he sees the dimples.  

He flips to the beginning of the book and starts reading, and it takes him an hour, but he’s able to translate one word: Sam.


	19. Back in Black (Dean POV)

“This doesn’t help us get to Kevin—”

“I’m telling you, if we just rally everyone and attack the capital, the people _will_ join us!”

“We can’t involve civilians, and you know it.”

“Are you joking me? We are _all_ civilians.”

“None of this is addressing the very real possibility that the Darkness is just a distraction created by the Emperor. _He_ is our enemy, not some child’s story.”

“For the last time, the Darkness is not a story—”

“How will we even survive until we can come to a decision? We left the Base, we have _nothing_ now. This moon can’t hold us forever. No offense, Commander. But we need to think long-term, about a place that’s also big enough for our food and supplies—”

“But what about _Kevin_?”

Dean put his head in his hands, wishing on all the stars that he’d never agreed to sit in on the Rebellion’s council meeting with Castiel and Sam. The select group of officers couldn’t settle on anything, and Castiel looked as upset with the proceedings as Dean felt. His frustration continued to build until he found himself standing.

“Okay, okay!” Dean interjected. “Everybody shut up!” Everyone looked up at him in surprise, and Dean shrugged. “Sorry, Cas,” he muttered.

Castiel waved a hand. “Um. The floor is yours, Captain.”

Dean ignored the tingle of pleasure at hearing the title fall from Castiel’s lips, and faced the group. “We’re never gonna get anywhere with you guys dancing around the obvious solution.”

Sam frowned. “Which is what, exactly?”

“We bargain with the Emperor for Kevin. Wait, wait, hear me out. We give him something that he wants, distract him, get the prophet back, and then regroup. You said that the prophet is important, right, er, Commander? Important to everything, including defeating the Darkness?”

“That’s right, but—”

“So we play his game for a while. It’s common sense.”

“That is ludicrous,” said the one Castiel referred to as Lieutenant Hannah. “We cannot bargain with someone like Crowley.”

Dean raised his hands in exasperation. “Why the fuck not?”

“Because, Captain Winchester, we know Crowley. He is conniving and evil,” Hannah explained. “He will turn the tables on us, I can guarantee you that. I understand your motivation, but it simply will not work.”

“Sweetheart, you haven’t seen me work. _Us_ work,” Dean gestured at his brother. “We’re mercs, okay? And that is so much more than moving cargo. Trust me—”

“Dean, Dean...she’s right,” said Cas. Dean stared at him. “I know that you want to do things your way, but we have been fighting this war for—”

“It’s not about doing things my way, Cas. This isn’t even my fight okay? I just want to help the kid.”

“So do we all. That’s why we went to Malaket, why we got the book—”

“The book that doesn’t explain anything—”

Sam touched Dean’s arm. “Hey, calm down. Let’s get back on track.”

“You, too?” Dean yanked his arm out of Sam’s grasp. “You know it’s a good plan. A solid plan.”

“Hannah is right. You don’t know Crowley like we do.”

Dean stepped away from the makeshift council table. “Have it your way. Just know that while you’re wasting time, Kevin is _losing_ time.”

Another lieutenant, one Dean had heard called Benny, leaned forward. “Son, they ain’t gonna do nothin’ to Kevin. They need a prophet, too. They want him alive.”

Dean shook his head. “You haven’t seen what I’ve seen. Kevin isn’t gonna make it, he never _does_. You are killing him by sitting here arguing. I’m...I’m out.” He backed away from the table.

“Dean, wait!” Castiel called after him, but Dean just waved a hand.

“I just need to be alone, okay? I’ll, um...see you tonight. Enjoy your meeting.”

Closing the door behind him, he made his way through the ancient, cramped underground bunker until he was above ground. Guards were stationed everywhere, in case the Malak wards didn’t hold. He spotted the members of his crew hanging out around them, making conversation. He made eye contact with Jess, and gestured her over.

“Hey, Dean. So what’s the plan?” she asked, throwing a sarrah over her shoulder. “We gonna help these guys, or what?”

“Not exactly. I need you and the crew to stay here. Keep an eye on Sam for me, yeah? I’m gonna, um...go for a short flight.”

Jess laughed, a happy sound that was at odds with their bleak surroundings. “Yeah, okay. Like Bobby’s gonna let the Impala out of his sight.”

“Well, she’s not Bobby’s ship, she’s mine, and I wanna take her out for a spin. I need to be alone. These friggin’…” Dean looked around at the rebels, and lowered his voice slightly. “These people are giving me a headache. I just need a few minutes, okay?”

“So go for a walk.”

“Jess, just…” Dean gripped her blue shoulder. “Please don’t let Sam do anything stupid, okay? And you all stay safe, too, right?”

“Dean, what—”

“See you soon, okay?” Dean turned, headed toward the landing area.

The Impala stood out from the vast array of vessels, and a guard waved him past without a problem. Dean glanced over his shoulder before lowering the hatch. Jess was watching him, a worried look marring her features. Behind her, Jody looked up from her conversation with Bobby. He wasn’t sure what expression she wore, but the navigator nodded, a solemn acknowledgment. He waved once before climbing on board.

“Well, they didn’t want me to be neutral…”  

* * *

 

It was easier than Dean had pictured, getting to the Emperor’s hideaway. All it took was a well-placed rumor at a bar on the adjacent moon, and the Hel soldiers came right to him. He was going to be hand-delivered to Crowley like a Christmas present—whatever that was—just one system over on the desert planet of Shoel.

All things considered, the soldiers had treated him pretty well. For all they knew, he was rebel trash. He laughed a few of his own internal jokes about rebels being treated better than mercs, but decided against voicing them. He’d save his words for the Emperor. _For Kevin_ , he reminded himself, thinking of the latest vision (or memory...whatever), one he’d had while flying Baby less than two hours before.

At this point, it wasn’t a surprise ending.

On Shoel, he was transported in a small ground vehicle with a bag over his head. It didn’t take long for them to arrive at what Dean assumed was Crowley’s own secret base. No wonder it had been easy enough for them to track the Impala as it made its way to Nivay. It was fucking close enough for them to monitor everything. They probably already knew that the rebels had moved.

He was dragged through a hallway with a smooth floor, and a sweet scent filled his nostrils. He was shoved down into a kneeling position as doors closed behind him, and a voice came from beyond the confines of the bag.

“Leave him. Take the bag.”

The cover was ripped from Dean’s head, and he blinked at the glow of candlelight. They were in a large chamber, coated in shiny black rock. The Hel Emperor sat behind a desk, scribbling something in a book. “Dean Winchester,” he crooned. “No need to stay on your knees, although I must say it is a pretty sight.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Dean said as he stood. Crowley leaned back in his chair, moving his hood back from his face. The black patterns on his skin looked as though they themselves were flickering, sliding in the candlelight.

**_What can I do for you, my little squirrel?_ **

Dean flinched at the mental intrusion. “If you don’t mind, uh, your uh...majesty...I’ve come to make you an offer.”

“Is that so?” Crowley poured himself a drink from a gold decanter. “Funnily enough, you didn’t want to talk to me the first time we crossed paths. What’s changed?”

Dean shifted on his feet, trying to find the right words, when Crowley laughed. “Oh, I see. Your little angel lover doesn’t know you’re here.”

“We know you took Kevin,” Dean said.

Crowley waved the glass in his hand. “Of course you know I took Kevin. The prophet didn’t just wander outside on accident.”

“I’ve come to bargain for him.”

“Is that so? Well, sweetheart, I don’t think you’re going to like making deals with the likes of me and mine.” Crowley's eyes glowed red.

Dean swallowed down the sudden feeling of unease. Kevin’s face floated in his mind, and he knew he couldn’t let that kid die again. Not when he could change it. He thought of Castiel, Sam, Jess, Jody, Bobby, Claire...everyone who was left in the world that he cared about.

“Try me.”

“All right then.” Crowley downed the rest of the glass, made a satisfied sound, and stood. His black robes flared out around him like tentacles. “I’ll give the little rebellion their precious prophet back...in exchange...for you.” He watched Dean’s face for a reaction. “Oh, that doesn’t surprise you? Most people would run screaming from this room.”

Dean steeled himself. “Let’s just say I’ve seen how this turns out. I don’t think this is my first deal. I’ll give up my loyalties. I’ll work for you.”

Crowley laughed. “Very well then. You give yourself over to the Hel Empire, and sweet, sweet Kevin will be deposited back on the little yonder moon, without so much as a scratch.”

“Deal.”

Crowley came around the desk, a gnarled hand extended. Dean shook it before Crowley pulled him closer. “Did your past deals seal themselves with a kiss?” The Emperor placed a wet peck on Dean’s closed mouth. “Ah. Much better.”

As the Emperor moved back toward the desk, Dean discretely wiped his hand down his pant leg. “Boys,” Crowley called to his personal guard. “Be dears and send our newly acquired gift to Her Eminence the Darkness. Tell her our business is concluded.”

“Hey, what—” Hands latched onto Dean’s biceps and shoulders, and his arms were wrenched behind him. Something cold snapped onto his wrists. “Wait, wait, your majesty!” Dean’s heart sunk to the pit of his stomach. Hannah and Castiel’s warnings sounded in his ears. “Um, sorry, I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

Crowley pulled his hood further down his face, concealing his eyes from view. “I don’t believe so. Kevin is already being packed up to be sent home as we speak. Although I do have a feeling he might miss his room here. It was very comfortable.”

“I gave myself over to _you_ , Crowley,” Dean spit out. “I’m here to work for you, not be sent to the fucking Darkness.”

“Work? Why no. You didn’t make a deal to work, or soldier, or anything else. You made a deal to give yourself to the Empire, and the Empire does as the Darkness pleases.” Crowley grinned. “I do hope you’ve enjoyed your stay. I trust I’ll see you again, eventually.”

The butt of a blaster came down against Dean’s skull, and the world was dark.

* * *

 

Castiel woke with a start, covered in droplets of sweat. His heart was racing in his chest, and he groped the sheets of the makeshift bed in confusion, searching for something to anchor him back to reality.

He hadn’t expected to fall asleep. He’d just been waiting for Dean to come back from his walk after their pointless council meeting when he must have nodded off. He shook his head, trying to pinpoint the feelings of anxiety, when the nightmare that had woken him came rushing back.

He hadn’t had visions or nightmares in some time, but this one was so real...he took deep, calming breaths the way Gabriel had taught him so long ago. He tried to banish the thoughts the nightmare had deposited in his mind, but they wouldn’t leave. He kept seeing Dean speaking with Crowley; they shook hands, and Crowley placed a kiss on Dean’s lips, but it was a trap. In the dream, Dean was dragged away by creatures like the ones they had fought not so long ago, and deposited at the feet of the Darkness.

He cried out as a new image was thrust into his mind, pushed across his carefully placed mental barriers. Dean was with the Darkness, but she was in the form of a beautiful woman. She was touching him, and he couldn’t move. Her long fingers caressed his face, slipped over his lips, and came to rest on his forearm. Dean screamed as a strange symbol was burned into his flesh, and his eyes turned pitch black.

A sudden pain in his left hand caused Castiel to cry out. His palm was burning, almost as though he had plunged his hand into a fire. He stripped the glove away, and nearly sobbed when he saw the source of the pain.

His _nayrah_ was flickering in distress, wavering and shuddering in pure anguish. It dimmed further and further, and Castiel’s chest felt hollow. All that was left was a small glimmer of light, and Castiel’s eyes filled with emotions he hadn’t felt in more than twenty years.

“Dean,” he said to the empty room. “I will come for you.”


	20. Don't Fear the Reaper (Castiel POV)

It seemed as though they had been walking for hours. Or it could have been seconds. There was no time in the Void; no physical laws that Castiel, Gabriel, and Dean needed to adhere to. The ground they walked on was comprised of nothing but the never-ending dark—it was like the dead of night between the second sunset on Malaket and the first sunrise. As a young Malak, Castiel always feared that the suns would never come back again.

The dread that Castiel felt was like nothing he had experienced before. There was no sun that would rise in the Void, no respite from the incessant shadows. When Castiel had first become a Guardian, stationed on the outer reaches of Malaket's mesosphere, he had looked off into the galaxy, past the twinkling specks in an otherwise inky sky, and into the edge of the universe, into a black nothingness that stretched forever. Then, he hadn’t been able to grasp that other races from other planets did not see the galaxy the way he did. Now, he knew that people like Dean couldn’t see where the galaxy ended—for them, space was vast and wondrous and never-ending.

He wondered if Dean would ever see the universe that way again, now that he had been in the Void.

He wondered if he could ever view the universe the same, either.

The thought bothered him as they walked, but the longer they walked the less it seemed that they moved forward or backward or anywhere. _-Gabriel?-_

_-Yes, lil bro?-_

_-We left time and space behind when we entered the Void, correct?-_

_-You tell me. You’re the one who had a dinner date with the warden.-_

_-If we are outside of time and space, why are we still walking?-_

Gabriel froze so quickly that Dean almost ran into him. “What’s going on?” Dean asked.

“How did you both find me in this place?” asked Gabriel. “How did you know where I was?”

“Well, the old dude gave us some pretty vague clues,” replied Dean. “So we kinda just stumbled across ya.”

In spite of his apparent nonchalant demeanor, Castiel had always found Gabriel to be the smartest of all his brethren. “It’s not bound to the laws of physics,” Castiel realized. “Gabriel, I found you by focusing on memories that I did not want to think about. This story you told me about Sam—what part did you omit?”

Gabriel looked uncomfortable.

“Wait, who is Sam? When did he tell you a story?” Dean asked.

“Don’t worry about it, Dean-o.” Gabriel was being dismissive and evasive, and both were unlike him. “So you’re telling me I have to think about the thing I don’t want to think about and that’s how we get to where we’re going?”

“As I said, the Void doesn’t follow natural law.”

“Or logic,” Gabriel muttered. “Well, okay then. Here we go. Do we have to hold hands or something?”

Dean scoffed, “I hope not.”

Gabriel grew uncharacteristically silent as he led them onward. It wasn’t a companionable silence, as Castiel often felt with Dean. It was stiff, taut, like a rope pulled so tight that it threatened to snap. Castiel felt the need to break the silence.

_-Why Sam Winchester, Gabriel? What is he to you?-_

Gabriel looked meaningfully at Castiel’s covered left arm. _-Why did you bring Dean into the Void, Cassie?-_

_-You did this for Sam_ ,- Castiel realized. _-You are trying to rescue Sam.-_

_-Yes, his name is Sam. Glad you picked up on that.-_

Dean waved his hand in front of Castiel’s face. “Uh, hello? Human here? I can’t hear whatever weird telepathic thing you have going on right now.”

“Apologies,” said Castiel. “Gabriel was telling me about Sam.”

“Who’s Sam? Why do you keep mentioning him?” asked Dean.

Gabriel turned to the Winchester. Castiel could sense wonderment in his brother’s mind, and recognition. Gabriel knew Dean. “If Cassie weren’t able to read my mind, I’d say you’d never believe me.”

“Try me.”

“Did you know that you have a brother?”

Dean laughed. “Impossible. Only child.”

“Oh, sweetcheeks, that ain’t even close to the truth.”

“I don’t understand,” said Dean. “My parents both died when I was four. Bobby raised me. I don’t have a brother.”

“Well, not in this universe you don’t, sugarlips, but buckle up because it’s going to be a wild ride. Let me tell you about a place called Lawrence, Kansas, and about what happened on November 2, 1983.”

“What’s November?”

Gabriel sighed. “Let’s have a seat so I can explain this in words you can understand.”  To Castiel he said, _-This would be so much easier if he could read our minds.-_

_-No one should read what is in your mind, Gabriel.-_

_-True.-_

Castiel was familiar with bits of the story because parts were the same story he had read about in Gabriel’s notes in his _nava,_ and others were the story he’d just shared with Castiel through their connection. Still, Gabriel’s tale of two brothers chosen by gods and devils to decide the fate of their world again and again impressed Castiel. Their final battle was between their god and the Darkness.

“So who is Sam?”

“Your brother.”

“I don’t have a brother.”

“And I told you that you do, buttercup.”

“But I don’t.”

“You do, babycakes. You do.”

“I don’t.”

_-He does not remember a brother.-_

_-Doesn’t change the fact that he has one, Cassie.-_

“Weren’t you listening?” Gabriel demanded. “Okay, let’s try this again.”

The brothers defeated the Darkness, Gabriel explained, but they paid a high price. “There are some things that not even a god can undo,” he explained. One brother had tricked the Darkness, locking her into the Void. “The thing is,” Gabriel said with a sad smile, “Is that he was locked in there with her.”

“What about the other brother?” asked Dean.

“He asked God to make him forget all that he had lost.”

To make him forget, their God had to rewrite the universe that had nearly been destroyed by the Darkness. It took millions of years, and thousands of planets, but eventually, the older brother was given a place and had been born into the universe again.

“What happened to this God? And what does this have to do with me?”

According to Gabriel, no one knew where God was. “I have read every tome and every document in the Temple of the Elders, and nothing will tell me where to find God, or how to save Sam.”

“Save who?”

“Sam. Your brother.”

“I don’t have a brother.”

“Haven’t figured it out yet, sweet britches? You’re the older brother.”

“As stimulating and helpful as this conversation is,” interrupted Castiel, “It may be more beneficial for us to leave the Void as soon as possible.”

_-I’m not leaving without Sam.-_

From past experience, Castiel knew that it was pointless to argue with Gabriel, so instead he let his brother explain the plan to find the lost Winchester. It seemed simple: find Sam’s prison and break him out. Like everything they had experienced in the Void so far, however, it was not going to be so easy. Gabriel had become lost because he had no light. The lantern, dim though it was in the face of such immense Darkness, led them forward. The slight glow of the _nayrah_ bled through Castiel’s arm covering, and it did not go unnoticed by Gabriel, who looked back and forth between it and Dean with a smirk on his face and a wink in Castiel’s direction. Castiel only hoped that Gabriel didn’t mention the _nayrah_ to Dean, or what it really meant.

* * *

 

“We’re going in circles.”

Dean’s complaint was not unwarranted. Gabriel’s sense of direction—and his conversation—continuously led them back to the same point: Sam Winchester. Dean still scoffed at the idea that he had a brother, and Gabriel was still very insistent on the subject. Their back-and-forth was beginning to wear on Castiel’s patience. It was like listening to Gabriel and Naomi have a conversation, although admittedly Dean had a lot more wit than Naomi. Still, it seemed like Castiel’s brother was avoiding the task at hand: finding Sam. This irritated Castiel because the only reason he had entered the Void was to find Gabriel, who had come to the Void to find Sam.

_-Gabriel, we cannot continue on like this.-_

Gabriel ignored him. “So, Dean-o, have I told you about pizza? You and your bro like to share pizza and brewskies now and again.”

Dean sighed. “It’s like you’re speaking Yorgon to me, man. I don’t know what you are saying.”

Gabriel chattered on about something called a “telenovela” and it reminded Castiel of the one time he’d ever seen Gabriel afraid. During his training for the Guardianship of Malaket, Anna had clipped him mid-flight. Castiel had fallen, and when he’d awoken, he’d been in Gabriel’s _nava_ , with his brother at his side. Gabriel had been chattering, aloud, about the absolute unfairness of Naomi’s dress code. _“Really, Cassie, it’s just so wrong! We were born naked, so flying naked should just be natural, right?”_ The nonstop stream of words couldn’t hide Gabriel’s pale face as he looked at Castiel’s crumpled body, and the words did nothing to hide it now, even in the midst of the Darkness.

_-Gabriel, why are you afraid?-_

_-Hello, we are in the Void.-_

_-That doesn’t scare you or you wouldn’t have defied the Elders and broken into the universe’s largest prison.-_

Gabriel’s silence proved that Castiel was right. So he kept asking, again and again and again until Gabriel finally threw his hands in the air. _-_ **_I_ ** _didn’t do enough, okay?_ **_I didn’t do enough.-_ **

Castiel reached out for his brother but Gabriel jerked away. Dean was uncharacteristically silent, undoubtedly aware of the tension between the Malakin. _-Gabriel.-_

_-Don’t. You don’t remember. You don’t know. But I, I could have done so much more. And if I had, maybe Sam wouldn’t be here. Maybe none of this would be here.-_

“Would you look at that,” Dean muttered. He pointed off to the left. “Whatever you’re arguing about, it’s what got us here.”

It rose like a spire, the only tangible object in the midst of pitch-dark nothingness; Its  jagged, shorn edges, cut into the black, looked like razor sharp teeth emerging from a gaping maw; at its speak, a globe, chained down, with currents of black wrapping about it, as if to strangle whatever was held inside.

“That’s where Sam is,” Gabriel said, pointing to the globe. He sounded so certain that Castiel did not wish to point out that there were no stairwells. It turned out that Gabriel’s determination far outdid his upper body strength, and so Dean and Castiel pulled him one hand at a time up to the top of the tower. By the time they reached the pinnacle, their arms burned and their clothes were slick with sweat, and their bodies heaved for want of air. In front of them, the globe was suspended, the threads of darkness wrapped around it like bars.

In the middle of the globe, was a man, tall in spite of the hunch he had from exhaustion. His face was dirty, caked with dried blood, and one eye was purple and swollen shut.

“Sam,” said Gabriel, “That’s Sam.”

As they moved closer, the air grew cold. The lantern flickered, its flame weakening. “Something is coming,” Dean whispered, “And it can’t be anything good.”

A trickle of fear crept down Castiel’s spine.

“You’re right,” Gabriel said. “It isn’t good.”

The Darkness approached them, surrounding them, like a _nagasta_ circling its prey before choking  the life out of it. Castiel could feel Gabriel’s fear, and he did not have to look at Dean to know that the other man was also afraid.

 _-Why are you here?-_ the voice of the Darkness slithered into their minds. Dean jumped, unused to telepathy.

 _-I’m here for Sam Winchester-_ Gabriel said _-He doesn’t belong in the Void._

 _-And why not?-_ hissed the Darkness. _-should I not have a companion?-_ It circled Sam’s cell, whispering sinister promises of pain and suffering.

 _-He belongs to the Light.-_ said Gabriel. _-Give him back.-_

“This is the Void!” it roared. “This is my domain, you pathetic creatures of the Light!”

“Okay, we get it,” Dean said. “This is your house. But him?” Dean gestured to Sam.  “He doesn’t belong here.”

The Darkness pooled around them, constricting their lungs, stifling their breath. “You are feeble. You are weak. Here, beyond the edges of the universe, only I reign.”

 _-The Void is your prison.-_ said Gabriel. _-You rule over nothing. Literally.-_

The Darkness released them and the three collapsed onto the ground. The room lightened to a dull grey as the Darkness took form. In all his life, Castiel would never have thought that the greatest evil entity to exist would take the shape of a young girl, who looked no more than eight years old. Her hair was long and pitch black, trailing behind her on the floor like a train of despair. Her eyes, though—her eyes were the most disconcerting feature of all. There was no color to them: no white, no pupils, just two chasms of nothingness. No light, no darkness—just nothing.

 _-I am trapped here_ \- the little girl told them. _-The Light trapped me here when he began your universe anew. He thought I wouldn’t remember, but I do.-_

“Remember what?” asked Dean.

The little girl tilted her head so far sideways that Castiel thought it might snap her neck. _-I see._ **_You_ ** _do not remember. Only a few Malakin have those memories, I suppose. How delightfully cruel.-_

 _-Memories of what?-_ asked Castiel.

The little girl giggled, and it sounded like crowing. _-I never thought I would see a time when one Winchester brother would forget the other, or when Castiel, angel of the Lord, would forget Dean, the Righteous Man. So let me help you.-_ She snapped her fingers.

In a steady stream, Castiel was reunited with all his memories of Earth. All the thoughts, the instincts he’d had for Dean since the instant they had met were validated in a moment.

He remembered rescuing the Righteous Man from Hell.

He remembered rebelling against Heaven.

He remembered purgatory.

He remembered the Gas-n-Sip.

He remembered Dean’s eyes, blacked out and full of evil fury.

He remembered dying in Dean’s arms, that last time, on an Earth ravaged and destroyed by the Darkness.

He remembered.

Dean’s hand sought out his own and held it tightly. So, Dean remembered, too. The _nayrah_ burned more brightly than ever before and Castiel’s arm wrap could not conceal it. Its glow bounced off the Darkness’ face, and the girl hissed.

_-You are so small, so chained to emotion. It was your weakness in that world, just as it will be in this one. You will perish, again, and I will always be.-_

“Big words coming from someone who was trapped here by a human,” muttered Dean.

The little girl disappeared and the Darkness surrounded them once more. _-Big words for someone at my mercy.-_

“If you’d wanted to kill us, you’d have done it already.”

Castiel realized that Dean was right. The Darkness wanted something from them. _-Why are we here?-_

_-You will be the instruments of my freedom.-_

“Not happening,” said Dean.

_-Then leave. But know this: Sam Winchester must stay behind or he will die in every universe. Your brother is my reminder to the Light that I will rise again.-_

The Darkness vanished, leaving behind Sam, suspended in his prison cell. Gabriel rushed to it, and was visibly dismayed by Sam’s pale face and bruised skin. He quickly surveyed the construction of the prison. “It’s got him on a kill switch. The instant the pressure is removed, Sam dies,” Gabriel told them. The archangel—the term fit now that Castiel knew their history—slipped through the bars of the prison and rushed to Sam’s side. Dean tried to do the same, but he was no Malak.

“Gabe,” Dean pleaded. “Let me in.”

Gabriel ignored him. He reached up to smooth Sam’s hair, which reached just past his shoulders. “Oh, Samsquatch, you’d hate to see how she cut your hair.”

Sam’s eyes fluttered open. “Gabriel?”

“That’s me, honey bee. Hey, Sam, can you stand up? Good, now, let me see your hand?” Gabriel maneuvered himself so he was standing nearly on top of Sam, taking the man’s place on the pressure-driven switch. “Excellent. Look, the door’s open and Dean-o is here. Move that fine ass right along.”

Too late, Castiel realized what his brother was up to. _-Gabriel, no. Please. Don’t do this.-_

_-You’d do the same, Castiel. We’re suckers for the Winchesters. That’s never going to change.-_

Sam stumbled to Dean, who was muttering incoherently and crying in relief.

_-Gabriel, please. Don’t.-_

_-Too late, lil bro.-_ Gabriel smiled at Cas, waving his free hand. _-Get going before Bitchy McDarkness returns. And Cassie? Take care of Sam.-_


	21. Blaze of Glory (Dean POV)

“Well, that’s new.”

Dean stared at his reflection in the cup of whiskey the Darkness had conjured for him. Black eyes gleamed back. Around the corners, where another person’s crow’s feet and laugh lines would be, he could see cracks forming. He thought vaguely that it should probably worry him, although he wasn’t sure why.

The black cracks went well with his black eyes.

The strange mark on his arm still burned, but he liked it. The pain was a reminder. It grounded him to the moment. At first, he had resisted when the Hel soldiers had delivered him to the Darkness. The last thing he wanted was to become like one of those creatures he and Castiel had battled on Nivay, zombie-like and bound to an evil force. When they had thrown him at the feet of the Darkness, at the very edge of the galaxy, he had spit at her, vicious and angry for what she had done to Ellen and Jo, and for what she would undoubtedly do to the lives that were scattered across universes far and wide.

She had only laughed, and changed her form. Instead of a grotesque, twisted hulk of black stone, she appeared to him as a woman in a black dress. She had bound him with some sort of spell, making him immobile. She had kissed his lips, and he was powerless to stop her.

She crooned in his ear—truths that stung and lies that dug deep. She knew everything about his father, his mother, Sam, and even Castiel. She knew about his and Castiel’s nights together, and his dreams of Kevin. She knew about the time he scraped his knee as a child during a fight, and had lied to John, saying that he'd tripped. She knew about the days when he had gone without food in order to feed Sam. She also knew about his deepest fears, his nightmares, his desires and disgusts.

"You are dirty," she whispered. "Your soul is black, like mine. You're a filthy thief, no better than your father. You let your brother leave you. You let your mother leave you. You aren't good enough for anyone or anything. You're a bastard, a drunkard, a liar, and a cheat. You couldn't save Kevin. You can't even save yourself."

She knew everything.

It all made more sense once she'd given him the gift of the mark. It would make him strong, she promised. It would make him her fiercest warrior. It would bring him closer to Ellen and Jo. He would be able to feel them within her—they had become part of her life force, and they would bring him power.

It disgusted him. But the longer the mark was upon him, the more he realized that she was right. This was him, now. He deserved this ending. His skin began to peel away, revealing the pitch black within.

This was who he had always been.

Time passed differently so close to the Void. The place where the Darkness made her home was devoid of color, life, even stars. Dean didn't know how long he had been with her and her worshippers—it could have been minutes or months—when an envoy from Hel came to them. The messengers brought offerings to her, people who had once prayed to the Darkness in small, occult gatherings and had dreamed of being absorbed into her power. They also brought news—the rebellion had been attacked, and had lost great numbers. They were scattered now, disorganized, as the cracks in the Void and the presence of the Darkness continued to affect the fabric of the universe. Any day now, the Emperor would crush them into oblivion.

The Darkness laughed with delight at the thought of the rebels and the empire fighting and killing each other off. Dean smiled, too, but something deep inside him was troubled. Did that mean that Cas and Sam were dead?

 **_They're better off that way,_ ** said the voice in his head. It had once belonged to Crowley, and then to the Darkness, and now it was all his own. **_They are one with the Void, now, all part of the same power. They existed for us. For you._ **

"Dean, come here."

He looked up at where the Darkness sat, on a throne of solid black smoke. She was licking her fingers one by one. A Crinis lay at her feet, his blue body shriveled and useless. "That one not good enough for you?" he asked. He did not think of Jess.

She laughed. "Put his body at the gate. Let it serve as a warning to your friends."

Dean frowned. "What friends?"

She tilted her head, dark hair cascading over one shoulder. "Weren't you listening? Oh, Dean." She stood, and drew him closer to her. Her lips pressed against the mark on his arm. "Still so deep in your own head. You must give yourself over to me completely, remember? I can't help you, otherwise."

"I know."

"Good." She grinned, a feral, dangerous smile. "Take this useless Crinis to the gate. A few of your friends from the rebellion have followed the envoy. They're going to try to rescue you. Can you imagine? I want them to see you for what you are. Let them get a good look. And then I want you to get rid of them."

"Which friends?"

She gripped his arm until the mark blistered, red hot against his flesh. "It doesn't matter. You will kill them and bring their bodies to me while their souls are still fresh. Understand?"

"Yes. I understand."

"Oh, and Dean? Take this."

He extended his hand. In his grasp, an odd-looking knife appeared. "What is this?" He turned it over, examining the blade. It looked like it was carved from a piece of bone. Energy radiated from it, and he felt it course through his husk of a body.

"Something from a long time ago," she said. Her face turned dark, and for a moment she was the deformed creature Dean had seen the day the Roadhouse disappeared. "Use it on the Malak first."

 **_The Malak_** **.** Was she talking about Castiel? Or Hannah? **_It doesn't matter. They will all die sooner or later._ **

Dean sheathed the knife in the holster that had once held something else. A blaster? He couldn't remember. He grabbed the body of the Crinis, not registering the weight of the corpse, and dragged it with him to the gate. How far the gate was from the throne, he could not say. Everything was the same this close to the eternal black nothingness of the Void. He wondered what would happen if he dumped the body in the Void instead of at the gate. Would it stay the way it was now, forever?  

The iron bars of the massive gate were already parted from the envoy's entrance. Two guards, with eyes even blacker than his own, stood at readiness, their arrows half nocked in their bows. He waved them away, and dumped the body at the threshold.

He pulled the knife from the holster to look at it again. Each time he touched it, what was left of his heart throbbed. He wondered where the Darkness had gotten the weapon. It felt strangely familiar, like it belonged to him.

"Dean!" A frantic, familiar voice whispered to him from the dusky mist beyond the gate.

His breath caught. He closed his eyes, and let himself remember, for the briefest of moments, how much he had wanted to hear that voice when he was first brought here. How much he regretted how they had parted, without so much as a goodbye. He wished that he had never offered himself up in Kevin’s place. But that was before, and this was now.

Dean turned to the voice, spinning the dagger between his fingers.

"Show yourself," he said.

Through the mist, Castiel and Sam appeared. They looked like they were alone. **_Fools_ ** **.** Dean felt a glimmer of his old self twist and curl in his gut at the sight of them. He gripped the blade the Darkness had bestowed upon him, and felt its power strengthening him, ridding him of doubts. 

"What brings you here?" he asked. "This is no place for you."

"Dean, what did they do to you?" Sam asked, his long face falling into a look of despair that would have once tugged on Dean's heartstrings. He stepped closer.

"Don't come any nearer," Dean warned. "I have orders to kill you. If you want to live, you'll leave now, before she comes to take care of you herself."

"Dean, we aren't leaving here without you," Castiel said. Dean looked at him. He wore the same tan-colored coat and gloves as he always had, and Dean smiled.

"Still so eager all the time, aren't you, baby? You're always trying to save me. Well, I've got news for you. I don't want to be saved. So get lost before you make me do something I'll regret."

“I said, we are not leaving without you,” Castiel stood his ground. “What has she done to keep you tethered here? Tell us, so that we can help you!”

“Nothing. I’m here because I want to be here.”

“That’s a lie!” Sam said, louder than was wise.

“Get out of here, Sammy,” Dean said, not even recognizing his own voice. It was raw, angry, pure hatred and despair and pain condensed into human vocal chords. “You don’t wanna make me kill you. Right? Or are you just that stupid?”

“Dean, this isn’t you,” Sam said. “Come with us. _Please_.”

“I will kill you. I’ll kill you both if you come any closer,” Dean said, realizing he meant every word.

“You wouldn’t hurt me,” Sam insisted. The pair continued to come toward the gate, and Dean flipped the knife.

“You’re asking for it.”

Dean lunged at them, the mark and the blade and the power of the Darkness making him faster than he had ever been before. He slashed at Sam, missing him by a millimeter. He laughed. “Glad to see you’ve still got some skills, tiger. Ain’t I nice, giving you one last chance to show them off?”

“Dean—”

“Enough talking, kid, more dancing.” He slashed the blade again, nearly nicking Castiel. He faced the Malak. “What’ve you brought to this fight, huh? Your little mind powers, maybe? That won’t work on me anymore.”

“Now!” Castiel shouted.

Sam grasped Dean around the chest from behind, holding his arms down. Castiel raised a hand and began to mutter in that damn language that nobody fucking understood. Dean gnashed his teeth and thrust his head back, knocking into Sam’s jaw. His brother cried out in pain, and Dean turned in their strange embrace, smashing the hilt of the dagger into the side of Sam’s head.

“Don’t worry, Sammy,” Dean chuckled as his brother fell to the ground, unconscious. “I won’t let you wake up with a headache. You’ll be long gone before that. But…” he turned on his feel, facing Castiel’s blue eyes. “I think I’ll deal with you first. She said this blade should be used on you. I’m betting it’s gonna soak up all your freaky powers and give them to me. Won’t that be interesting? Too bad you won’t live to see it.”

Dean jabbed at Castiel, but he was too fast. “Listen to me,” Castiel gripped Dean’s forearm, the blade hovering between them. “You’re being controlled by the Darkness.”

“You’re wrong,” Dean growled, his vision clouding black with rage. “This is who I’ve always been. I warned you both to leave, didn’t I? Don’t say I didn’t try to stop this.” He pushed against Castiel, drawing as much power from the blade as his human shell would allow. Castiel yelled as one brilliant, nearly opaque, wing appeared, emerging from his back. It was damaged and bent, but unlike any weapon possessed by the Darkness. It was pure life and energy, even in its broken state. It flared out behind Castiel as much as it could, stopping Dean from shoving him further.

“No, Dean,” Castiel’s voice was firm, and his grip tightened until Dean thought his arm might snap from the force. “ _This is who you are_.”

The Malak’s consciousness burst into Dean’s mind, flattening the defenses placed there by the Darkness. It flowed in like a river, bombarding Dean with memories from the lives he’d lost. He saw him and Sam in another world, fighting a yellow-eyed man. He saw himself pulled from the depths of Hell by a mysterious angel, and the handprint that had been burnt into his flesh. He felt the pain of living in this universe without Sam, and the joy of having Bobby for a father. He closed his eyes and saw Castiel’s _aushath_ as they once were, and felt them close around him in an intimate embrace. He saw Castiel, saw him drop kisses on his face, his lips, his neck, and he knew that Castiel hadn’t lied when he’d spoken of their profound bond.

The blade dropped from his hand, but he could still feel its control. In the back of his mind, the Darkness screamed in fury. “Cas…” Dean whimpered, falling to his knees. The light and the dark within his chest pressed against each other, pushing and pulling and threatening to tear him limb from limb. “Help me.”

“Dean, you have to send the Darkness back from whence it came. Back into the Void, and seal the cracks. Only you can get close enough,” Cas urged, clasping Dean’s hands in his own.

“How…how can I? It hurts, Cas, it all hurts.” Dean closed his eyes, feeling one tear of pain and distress escape. It trickled down his cheek, only to be wiped away by Cas’s thumb, disappearing into one of the black cracks on his chin.

Cas’s hands moved away, and Dean wanted to curl in on himself. He was a coward, he was an idiot, he deserved to die for betraying—

“Stop that,” Cas’s voice broke through the noise of his thoughts. “Look at me. Dean, please.”

Dean forced his black eyes open and met the blue of Cas’s, the only color he could see. “Help me, Cas,” Dean begged. He didn’t sound like himself, but he didn’t care. “I need you.”

“I know. Look, Dean,” Castiel lifted his left hand, and Dean realized he had removed his glove. His palm and forearm glowed a faint, silvery blue color, not unlike his eyes. From his palm rose a small, flickering orb. It was nearly invisible at first, but as it climbed, the blue became brighter, a flame of light that nearly hurt Dean to look at it.

“What…” Dean’s mouth was dry, and he swallowed reflexively. “What is that? I...I know it from somewhere, don’t I?”

“This is my _nayrah_. Remember? It was lit for you. It burns only for you.”


	22. Icarus is Flying (Castiel POV)

_-Gabriel, there’s another way. We will find another way.-_

Gabriel didn’t reply, but Castiel could tell that his brother heard him because of the fresh wave of frustration and overwhelming urge to _leave faster_ . Climbing down the tower with a weakened Sam was much more difficult than climbing up, and with a fresh wave of exasperation Gabriel sent, _-Jump. It’s not like the fall will kill you. Different rules here, remember?-_

“Gabriel says we should jump.”

Both Winchesters looked at him—though they were clinging to the side of a tower comprised of no material found in the natural universe—tas though he had lost his mind. With two realities battling for supremacy in his mind, Castiel truly thought that he might have.

“Jump?” asked Dean. “Seriously?”

“He says that the fall won’t kill us.”

“Dean, he _is_ an archangel. And my arms hurt.” As if to prove a point, Sam let go, and disappeared into the abyss.

“Sam!”

A voice weakly echoed up from below. “It’s fine, Dean. Just jump. Gabriel was right.”

“Well, that’s a first,” Dean muttered. He still eyed the abyss warily.

Castiel remembered that Dean had a fear of heights. He hated flying. “Take my hand,” Castiel said.

“Dude, no.”

For a second, Castiel worried that Dean remembered that, on Earth, he was reserved with physical affection, particularly around Castiel.

“I’m scared,” Dean admitted. “I don’t want to fall.”

“I won’t let you,” Castiel promised. Dean reached out and took Castiel’s hand, and together they jumped. It wasn’t for more than a few seconds, but Castiel let himself remember the fleeting moments on Earth when they’d had physical contact. As an angel, he had never craved it, but as a Malak, every touch from Dean stirred something in him. Selfishly, he never wanted to let go.

They were falling, and then they weren’t. There wasn’t a landing, nothing to jolt Castiel out of the thoughts he’d had of Earth. Dean didn’t let go of his hand as they walked away, although it quickly became apparent that without the lamp, there was no light to guide them. Castiel well remembered that humans were afraid of the dark, and this Darkness was oppressive at best.

“How do we find our way out?” asked Sam.

In the darkness, Castiel could not see Dean’s expression but figured the man was shrugging. “Dunno. Gabe was the man with a plan.”

_-Really, Cassie, I’m shocked that you’re still here. You have a light. Use it.-_

Castiel looked at his arm. The _nayrah_ bled through, just slightly. With his profound bond with Dean fully restored, he knew that it would shine more brightly than ever. He undid the arm wrap, letting the _nayrah_ bathe the three of them in its glow.

“Whoa,” said Sam. “You did _not_ have that on Earth.”

“There are a great many things about this universe that will be new to you,” said Castiel. “And a great many things you will miss.”

“Like bacon cheeseburgers,” lamented Dean.

The _nayrah_ 's light put them enough at ease to move them forward. Dean practically carried Sam; Castiel supposed that after countless millennia in the Void, Sam was entitled to special treatment. Indeed, Sam seemed more worn than Castiel had ever seen, the planes of his face pale and protruding like bones in an open wound. Their progress was slow; the dark spire still looming behind them. Castiel resisted turning and looking back, looking at Gabriel.

The connection between them lingered. Gabriel’s emotions filtered through. There was regret, so much of it. _-Cassie, I'm going to let go.-_

Castiel had never been very good with words, so instead he focused on how much he cared for his brother. He hoped that Gabriel felt it.

The tower fell with a mighty crack, collapsing, splintering into a million smaller shards like glass shattering onto a hard floor. It diminished into the Void, leaving behind nothing but the bitter stench of evil.

The last thing Gabriel did before their connection was severed was send him a memory of Earth. Castiel remembered it, but he saw it with such clarity through Gabriel’s eyes:

Castiel stood on the porch of Robert Singer’s house, the familiar tan trenchcoat draped across his shoulders. Sam and Dean were nowhere in sight. The night was cool, crisp, and the air was clear—possibly the beginning of fall or the end of spring. Lights were on inside the house, but Castiel did not enter.

He heard the screams of Sam, tied up in Bobby’s panic room, and with a wince he remembered that this was before he fully trusted the Winchesters. He felt Gabriel’s pain, his empathy for Sam. He wanted to help, Castiel realized. Gabriel wanted to cure Sam of his demon blood addiction. He felt Gabriel’s instinct to enter the house, to go to Sam. He felt the tips of Gabriel’s wings twitching, about to take flight.

And then he saw Zachariah. He remembered what Gabriel must have heard: _Let Sam Winchester go, Castiel. It is the will of heaven._

He felt Gabriel’s reluctance to meet with Zachariah battle with his reluctance to leave the Winchesters. In the end, Zachariah’s smarmy face outdid his attachment to Sam and Dean, and he left with nothing but regret to keep him company.

The memory snapped, a clean break. Gabriel was gone. Castiel felt more empty than ever before now that he knew the full extent of his history. His _aushath_ reached out for his fallen brother, but Dean grabbed him. “He’s gone,” Dean said. “I know it hurts, but we have to keep going.”

Castiel allowed Dean to lead him onward. They had almost made it to the rendezvous point with the old man when, once again, Castiel felt the impending gloom that signalled the arrival of the Darkness.

_-You are clever to switch the Malak for Sam.-_

Castiel did not want to be that clever, but he respected his brother’s decision to stay behind and said nothing.

“Okay, well, you still have a prisoner and we’re leaving,” Dean said. “See you again never.”

The Darkness wrapped itself around the older Winchester, throwing him against a wall and pinning him there. Sam was too weak from imprisonment to manage more than calling out Dean’s name. Castiel, however, sprung into action. He pushed back against the Darkness with the full force of his _aushath_ , but her hold on Dean tightened until there was the distinct sound of Dean’s ribs cracking.

_-You are His favorites. You are protected from death, but perhaps your beloved doesn’t need a leg? Or his pretty green eyes?-_

The thought of Dean hurting and in pain enraged Castiel. _-What do you want from us?-_

 _-Careful, Castiel-_ the voice skulked in his consciousness - _Don’t offer things that you will regret later.-_

 _-What do you want?-_ Castiel repeated.

_-My freedom.-_

_-I cannot give you that.-_

The Darkness twisted its grip on Dean, causing the man to cry out in agony. Sam looked on in panic, and Castiel saw with clarity that no matter the universe he lived in, he was always destined to protect the Winchesters.

 _-Please-_ Castiel begged _-Let him go.-_

_-You are protected, both of you, but if you freely offer a sacrifice, I would let you leave my domain.-_

Castiel knew it to be a trick; whatever the Darkness wanted, it was willing to hurt Dean to get it. “Castiel,” said Sam. “Can’t you do anything?”

 _-What sacrifice do you require?-_ asked Castiel.

The Darkness laughed and the sound oozed and bubbled like acid in Castiel’s mind. _-I will give you a choice: your heart-_ A tendril of darkness wrapped itself around Castiel’s left wrist _-Or your wing.-_ Another tendril wrapped around his right shoulder. _-Which will you choose, Castiel? To break your heart or to break yourself? Where is your weakness? Which one will you choose?-_

Dean and Sam were not privy to this conversation in his mind, but he chose to speak aloud his decision: “I have made my choice. I choose Dean. It will always be Dean.” He unfurled his _aushath,_ took out the sword that Charlie had given him, and reached back for the right appendage. He took a deep breath, thought of Dean’s sleepy smile in the morning, and cut into the appendage.

He screamed.

Castiel had been told that breaking an _aushath_ brought a pain so intense that some Malakin could never recover from it. As far as he knew, no Malak had ever lost one, and the white hot flashes of agony striking his back would have broken anyone less determined. The flashes of pain soon subsided into a dull throb of anguish and the knowledge that Castiel could never be whole again.

He fell to the ground, pulling at what remained of his energy to stop the bleeding. Just before he slipped into unconsciousness, he heard the Darkness’ mocking voice say, “Leave now, but remember: before time, and light, and the universe, I was here. And when it is all gone, the Darkness will come again.”


	23. Carry On My Wayward Son (Dean POV)

The light, the _nayrah_ , was beautiful. The fragments of Dean’s bruised and battered heart fluttered at the sight, and for a second, he clung to the hope that maybe there was a way out.

“What does it mean?” he asked. He itched to touch it, but the very thought made the mark on his arm sink farther into his skin, charring his cells, his very atoms. He bit back a sob. “I’m sorry, I—I can’t—” snatches of a memory flashed at him, being curled up in a bed with Castiel, asking about the _nayrah_. “There’s too much, it’s too much—”  

“It’s all right, Dean, it’s okay. This is a physical manifestation of who I am...who I am when I’m with you,” Cas said, his voice gruff. “It did not appear until I met you. Before the Void. Before we rescued Sam while searching for Gabriel. After Earth, but before this timeline.”

Dean slowly reached for the silvery light. His fingers skimmed over the orb, not quite touching, and the mark blackened. “Go ahead,” Castiel said. “Feel it.”

Dean touched the _nayrah_ , a light skim of skin against the brightness. It was hot, but it didn’t burn his skin like the mark did. _I’ve done this before_ , he thought. He passed his hand through the glow, shuddering at the feelings that rushed to the surface. This was Castiel’s soul, his essence, his very life contained in one shining lamp, and fuck, it felt good.

“Look,” Cas whispered. Dean glanced at his arm. The mark shimmered fiercely, blood-red and angry, but the pain that had accompanied him from the moment the Darkness gave it to him began to ebb until the mark faded completely from his flesh.

Dean raised his head in surprise. “How?”

“Watch,” Cas encouraged.

Hope and determination built up in Dean’s chest as the cracks on his hands began to seal themselves; he could feel the splits in his face closing, and life returning to his veins. “This is impossible,” he said.

“Nothing is impossible when you love someone.”

In the distance, the Darkness shrieked. Dean could detect footsteps on the other side of the gate. His heart beat like a drum until he could almost feel it against his ribcage, and he wondered if Cas could hear it. “Do you love me?” he asked.

“You know that I do,” Castiel said. “I have loved you more than I ever thought possible, and for far longer than either of us realize.”

Dean peered at the _nayrah_ , his fingers twitching. His hand looked like it was glowing blue. His knees were numb and his mouth was parched, and more than anything he wanted to be as far away from here as possible, with Cas and Sam and the crew of the Impala—with _family_. But first…

He cupped his hand, mirroring Castiel’s own palm. The tingling and itching he had felt when he first met Cas in this timeline, in that shitty bar on Itheost, consumed the tender, newly repaired skin. He touched the _nayrah_ again, but this time, it was solid. It fell into his palm, a smooth circle of radiance. Castiel gasped, and Dean closed his eyes and thought of the other world; the handprint on his shoulder, the shadow of wings against an old barn wall, jokes about Team Free Will. He remembered that Cas rebelled against Heaven for him. He remembered the night at the Gas-n-Sip that they had pretended never happened. He remembered Castiel’s embrace when the angel realized he hadn’t died. He remembered everyone who had loved him, who had died for him, in every world in which he and Castiel had existed.

The tingling stopped. Dean opened his eyes. The _nayrah_ was brighter than it had ever been before. In its glow, Castiel looked ethereal, an angel from a storybook that Mary had read to him, lifetimes ago. Dean let go of Castiel’s _nayrah_ —when he moved his hand away, a light of his own hovered over his palm.

“Dean…” Castiel said. “How did you—”

“You said it yourself,” Dean grinned. The despair and sadness and self-loathing from the Darkness seemed like a distant memory. The footsteps came closer, and he jumped to his feet. “Nothing is impossible when you love someone.”

Castiel got up and grasped Dean’s arms, searching his face. “Do what you have to. The words will come to you when you see her. You’re the righteous man,” he said. “Don’t worry about me. I will revive your brother.”

Dean nodded, and turned back through the gate. He moved in the direction of the smoke throne, where he could feel the presence of the Darkness, looming and angry. The steps of Hel soldiers and the Darkness worshippers still echoed, although he couldn’t see anyone. The world was a colorless, empty space, until it wasn’t. He clenched his fist, hiding his _nayrah_.

The woman stood in front of him, her black locks of hair floating behind her head as though on a wind. “What have you done?” she shouted, her voice like thunder. “Where is the Malak? Where is the blade?”

Dean cocked his head. “I thought you knew everything about me.”

She snarled as she looked at his face and saw the lack of cracks, his eyes once against green and vibrant. Her skin began to bubble, black rock and horns emerging from her forehead. “You’ve come to betray me? _Me_? You will regret this, Dean Winchester. You will be nothing, less than the dust under my feet, by the time I’m done with you. You’ll wish you had an easy death like your precious Ellen and your sweet little Jo. And when you’re gone, I’ll take your Malak and your brother and every member of your crew and swallow them whole!”

“Swallow this, you bitch. You can’t control me,” he growled. He opened his fist, the _nayrah_ shining like a lighthouse beacon, pulsating light and life-force, creation and starlight. The half-transformed face of the Darkness hissed, pointed teeth emerging from her once beautiful mouth.

“Si spiritus minitas mihi in loco isto...” Dean began to chant, the spell appearing in his mind as though he were reading it from a book. “Certa aqua in aqua et ignis ab igne…”

“Stop this,” the Darkness said, even as her hands began to shake and cracks appeared in her own skin. “You can’t send me back there, you can’t!”

Dean raised his hand, directing the light right at her. The brightness ate away at the dark mist surrounding her, exposing remainder of the monster beneath. “Nihil in animas eorum expelle et usque ad ultimum potentiae, ad tollendam vestigia. Si homo fugit mala haec Per tempus et spatium!”

The _nayrah_ quivered, the light growing whiter and whiter until Dean had to close his eyes. A ringing sounded in his ears, a high-pitched stream of sound that Dean had heard once before. It had shattered glass and nearly made his ears bleed, but now he welcomed Castiel’s true voice. The Darkness roared in agony and then vanished.

* * *

 

Dean’s chest heaved, and he lowered his hand. He peeked through an eyelid, and saw not the shadowy realm where the Darkness had lived for the last thirty years, but a meadow full of tall grass and wildflowers. He fell to his knees, and cradled the hand with the _nayrah_ close to his chest. He looked up at the sky and saw two moons cresting the horizon, casting the meadow in dusky twilight. He could feel a presence behind him. “Where are we?” he asked.

Castiel crouched next to him, his one _aushath_ dragging against the grass. “A planet called Cloudburn.” At Dean’s look of confusion, he continued. “The place where you have been for four months. Without her poison or any splinters in the Void, this is what it looks like.”

“Wait...where’s Sam? Is he okay?” Dean tried to lurch to his feet, but stumbled.

“Dean, stop.” Castiel gripped his arm, helping him into a more comfortable position. “You are weaker than you think. Without her presence to fuel you, we must...what’s the phrase you used to say back on Earth? Recharge your batteries. After all, you haven’t eaten in months.”

A sudden craving for a cheeseburger with a fried egg on top hit him like a class 1 ship collision. “I think I forgot what it felt like to be hungry,” Dean admitted.

Castiel touched his forehead, and Dean realized his gloves were gone. With a swipe of Cas’s fingers, the painful pangs and trembling in his thighs disappeared. “A temporary solution,” Cas said. “We must feed you and hydrate you soon, though.”

“What about Sam? And Kevin? And everyone else? God, how was I gone for four whole months?”

“All safe. Sam is here,” Castiel gestured behind them. “He said he would give us a moment alone. As for the others...Kevin is very grateful for what you did for him. He is working tirelessly to translate a text that will finally enable us to defeat the Emperor.”

“And my crew? Please tell me that Baby is okay…”

Castiel chuckled. “Your ship is fine. Bobby and Claire spearheaded a mission to retrieve it, and you, when we realized that you had gone to bargain with the Emperor. I’m afraid that all of them are feeling lingering anger at your sudden departure, but nonetheless, they worked tirelessly to find you. They will be glad to see that you are alive and well.”

Dean hung his head, feeling shame creep through his happiness at finally being free.

“Hey,” Cas said, nudging Dean’s chin up. “What is done is done. You have sent the oldest evil in all universes, galaxies, and timelines back to a place from which she cannot ever escape, and with Sam rescued, there is no reason for anyone to ever enter the Void again. You are the hero we needed, Dean. You just didn’t know it.”

A small breath of laughter made its way past Dean’s lips. “Wow. I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but, uh…” he looked at Cas, at the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and the ruffled hair on his head. “We were the heroes. Together. I mean, this fucking miracle couldn't have happened without you, even if I am a righteous man. Whatever that means.” He raised his hand, the _nayrah_ a viridescent hazy flame. Cas lifted his own pulsing cobalt light, his single remaining _aushath_ curling around Dean’s shoulders.

Holding hands, their lamps burned together against the dusk of the setting sun.


	24. Dream On (Castiel POV)

Dean pulled Castiel into his arms. “Cas? Cas? Cas? Talk to me. Please, angel, talk to me.”

“Dean,” Castiel said. His voice was weak, like a whisper lost on the wind.

“Angel? Come on, keep your eyes open. Look at me. Let me see those blue eyes. Cas? Cas? Cas? C’mon, Cas!”

“Dean, we have to go.”

“You can hardly walk, Sam, and I doubt Cas can. Oh, god, look at all this blood.”

“Dean.”

Dean cradled Castiel in his arms. He moved quickly, Castiel could tell by the frantic jostling of the man’s gait.

“Dean,” said Sam. “You have to slow down.”

“Can’t. Look at him, Sammy.”

“Dean, I can’t keep up, and in case you forgot, the Darkness just scracked a couple of your ribs.”

The brothers’ words washed over Castiel. He heard them, but they slipped away like waves on a shore. The shore. There was such a pretty shore on Malaket, on the edge of Lake Agan. Dean would like the shore.

“I’d like what, Angel? The shore? You bet. We’ll go, okay? Just hold on?”

“Being human is so cold.”

“What’s that, Cas?”

“Dean, he’s delirious.”

“You cold, Cas?”

“No, I am not human. Not anymore.”

When Metatron had pulled out Castiel's grace, he had felt cold. So cold. Losing the grace meant that he felt each heartbeat in a body that was now his, and he had been conscious of every breath. Every part of that body, Jimmy's body, had been working together to keep him alive, and he'd never fully appreciated the miracle of his father's creation before then.

“Not cold now,” Castiel said. “Just empty.”

Dean’s feet never slowed, but his arms around Castiel tightened. The pressure hurt where his _aushath_ had once been, but Castiel was too tired to care. He felt as empty as the Void, scraped out and left with nothing.

“Cas? Hang on man, we’re almost there.”

“Cas, shortened version of my name,” he slurred. “Like it.” Shadows crept behind his eyes, and Castiel nestled in them.

He didn’t remember Dean or Sam calling his name, shaking him, trying to wake him up. He didn’t remember Sam pressing his fingers to Castiel’s wrist, checking his pulse, or Dean calling out for God with increasing panic. He didn’t remember Billie appearing, or leading them from the Void. He didn’t remember Dean begging Billie to return them to the Impala. He didn’t remember Dean demanding Jess put them in lux toward Malaket immediately. He didn’t remember Dean’s gentle touch to his shoulder, where Castiel’s _aushath_ had been.

He didn’t remember Dean’s vow to make the Darkness pay.

He did, however, remember the worry in Dean’s eyes the first time he woke up. “I got you, angel,” Dean said. “I got you.”

The next time he woke up, Dean was gone. Sam sat at his bedside, patiently reading a book. He looked up when he heard Castiel stirring. “Hey,” Sam said.

“Hello, Sam.”

“How are you feeling?”

Losing one of his _aushath_ felt like Castiel was incomplete, scarred. The light inside of him was dimmer now, and Castiel knew that he would never fly again. The thought made him want to weep.

“I will live,” said Castiel. “Where am I?”

“On Dean’s spaceship that he calls the Impala.” Sam’s eyebrows scrunched together, as if to say _this definitely isn’t the Impala I know._

“That is good.” His eyes fluttered shut.

“Get some sleep, Cas. We’ll be here when you wake up.”

The third time Castiel woke up, he wanted to fly. One _aushath_ —his only one, his mind corrected—stretched out, reaching toward the open door. One _aushath_ was enough to pull him out of bed, but not enough to keep him from falling to the floor. His shoulder burned, the jagged scars like embers searing his skin over and over again.

He had given his _aushath_ to the Darkness of his own free will, but the stench of her lingered, infecting the air he breathed. It was enough to make him retch, and he did, until his lungs screamed for air and his ribs ached. With only one _aushath_ , he quickly became disoriented when he tried to stand. The world spun, and his eyes refused to focus. Two steady hands anchored Castiel, bringing him back to himself. “Cas,” Dean said, concerned, “Take it easy.”

Castiel allowed Dean to help him back into the bed. The other man settled in next to him and huffed out a small laugh. “Hey, Cas—would you ever have thought that we’d be sharing a bed in outer space?”

It was there, unspoken, but just as clear as if the words had left Dean’s lips: _who are we?_ They both remembered their friendship on Earth—the lingering looks, the soft touches, and the unshared emotions—but here, in this galaxy, they were something different. Or were they the same, and only the universe had changed? Castiel didn’t know, but he realized that he had lost too many people—both on Earth and here in this galaxy—to not tell Dean how he felt.

“ _Finally,_ ” Gabriel-in-his-mind said. “It only took the imminent destruction of _two_ universes to get your head out of your ass.”

He didn’t ignore Gabriel’s voice this time.

“I told you once that we had a profound bond,” he said to Dean.

“I remember. Kinda freaked me out, then.”

“We still have that bond,” Castiel said. He allowed the _nayrah_ to shine fully. “This represents that.”

“Kinda figured that out, you know, before,” Dean said. He blushed. “When we, ah, touched. Yeah, wow, that didn’t sound so dirty in my head.”

“And this does not ‘freak you out’?”

Dean cupped Castiel’s face with his hands, and their eyes met. The intensity of Dean’s gaze stole Castiel’s breath. “Well, it did, at first, but I’m still here, aren’t I?” He kissed Castiel on the forehead. “We’re going to get to Malaket, and get you fixed up, and then everything will be okay.”

He wanted to believe Dean, but he knew that there was no cure for losing an _aushath_ , and no place on Malaket for a Guardian who had willingly given one over to the oldest evil in creation. An evil that he could still feel, no matter how much distance they put between themselves and the Void.

He found it more difficult to care when Dean nuzzled his neck and whispered, “Get some rest, angel. It’s still a long way to Malaket.”

* * *

 

Orbiting Malaket in the Impala was a surreal experience. So much had happened since the last time Castiel had looked out into the stars from his post as a Guardian. So much had changed, and now he had the unhappy duty of telling his brethren that Gabriel was lost, and not for the first time. Would his brethren believe his story about Earth?

Through the Impala’s bridge monitor, he saw the expanse of the planet, his home. The first sun was just beginning to rise, its rays spreading over the waters of Lake Agan and creating a surface like a sparkling sapphire. From the corner of his eye, he saw Hannah in her Guardian post, floating at the edge of the stratosphere, her _aushath_ wide and beautiful. He sensed her wariness of the spacecraft and reached out to her.

_-Hannah-_

_-Castiel? Why are you aboard this ship?-_

_-I am unable to fly, Hannah. The captain of this ship was kind enough to bring me to Malaket for medical attention.-_ It seemed unfair to summarize Dean’s involvement in his life so simply, but Castiel knew that Hannah would not understand.  

_-Will the captain let me on board so that I may transport you to the surface?-_

_-They are friends to the Malakin.-_

_-The Elders have not given them permission to land. I’m sorry Castiel, but no outsider may land without their permission.-_

Castiel explained the situation to Dean, who begrudgingly allowed Hannah on board, but Dean refused to let Hannah take Castiel to the surface without him. “I’m not letting you out of my sight, Cas,” Dean argued. “Your sister can either take me with you or I’ll come down myself.” With a heavy sigh, Hannah consented, but not without first threatening all of Dean’s crew if they dared leave orbit without her permission.

_-They are my friends, Hannah.-_

_-While once that have been sufficient reason to let them stay,-_ Hannah said - _Now I fear it is a reason to detain them. The Elders are very displeased with you, Castiel. Michael most of all.-_

Hannah took them to the medic’s station, and with a sad look at Castiel’s marred _aushath_ , she left them. The medics—two kind Malakin with gentle eyes—explained what Castiel already knew: he would never fly again.

“They could be wrong, Cas,” Dean said after the medics left them. “I’m sure there’s a way to fly with only one wing. They’re magic, right?”

“Perhaps,” Castiel said. He didn’t want to tell Dean that his “magic” was drawn from a balance in the universe—something Dean-on-Earth would call the “Force.” Losing one _aushath_ meant he was unbalanced, and without it, he doubted that he’d be able to fly safely. It also meant that he was unable to go to his own _nava_ , or anywhere else on Malaket without the help of one of his brethren.

Castiel hadn’t felt this helpless since he’d worked in a Gas-n-Sip.

* * *

 

Castiel was summoned before Naomi the next morning. Dean had been returned to his ship, much to his chagrin. The Temple was more somber than Castiel remembered, and Naomi had even less humor than the last time they had met. Castiel wore the medical green, which was also, Castiel thought bitterly, the color assigned to inmates. No other Elders were present save Naomi, which meant it was not an official inquiry. Castiel sighed in relief.

Naomi was hard to read on a good day, but as she sat across from him, she was more stoic than he had ever seen her. She’d always had a look of perpetual displeasure, but now it was softened by something that felt a lot like pity, judging from the wavelengths in her mind.

“Oh, Castiel,” Naomi spoke aloud, which indicated that she wanted none of their brethren to overhear them. “You were never supposed to remember Earth. You were never supposed to meet Dean Winchester in this universe.”

A thousand things, before seemingly insignificant but now important, clicked into place. Castiel was the first of his birth group to be chosen as Guardian. A Guardian was never supposed to leave Malaket. Guardians were discouraged from contacting anyone from other planetary systems. Contact with other planetary systems was restricted, and it appeared that Naomi had done all she could to prevent Dean and Castiel from ever meeting; if it weren’t for Gabriel, she might have succeeded.

“Do you know what you’ve done, Castiel?”

Naomi had never revealed her _aushath_ to him—or any other Malak that Castiel knew of—and when they stretched wide, their soft grey reflecting the light of the setting second sun, Castiel knew that she was desperate. Her right wing had ripped, a hole dead in the center of it. “Soon every Malak will have broken wings,” she told him. “We reflect the nature of the universe, and you have broken it.”

_-How?-_

She showed him the stars, the galaxies, everything that existed within reach of them. Then she showed him a scratch, a single fracture in the night sky. _-That is what happened when you left the Void. Did you not feel it?-_

He had, and he had ignored it.

 _\- The Winchesters were never supposed to reunite. They have shifted the balance and the Darkness knows that her prison is weakened. One crack in a pane of glass will splinter and break if enough force is applied.-_ Naomi said.

_-Can it be fixed?-_

_-Yes. But not without a price.-_

_-What is the price?-_

_-You take away the source of the pressure. The Winchesters cracked the Void, and only they can seal it again.-_

She would not meet his eyes, and he realized what she meant. She wanted him to kill the Winchesters. He slowly unwrapped his wrist, and summoned the _nayrah_ to his palm. Naomi stared, unblinking, at the orb of light. He could feel her amazement, her surprise, and her disappointment all at once, but for all the admonishments she could have given him, all she said was, “It’s Dean Winchester. Of course it is.”

Naomi turned his back on him then, hiding her _aushath_ again. She looked out the large bay window overlooking their city and she said, “Once, we could travel through space _and_ time with scarcely more than a thought. Later, it was something only the archangels could do, and they’re all gone now, well, except for Michael, but he sits alone in tower waiting for an apocalypse that will never arrive. Time travel is supposed to be a myth, but I wonder if all we need is the proper motivation to be able to do it again.” She gave him a knowing look. “I imagine Gabriel has read about it.” She turned to leave the room. _-It will take time to summon all of the Elders. I imagine we could not meet until the second sunrise, at the earliest. I will have Hannah take you to your nava.-_

When Hannah arrived, she looked more tired than Castiel had ever seen her. _-Are you alright?-_

_-I’m fine, Castiel. Just unpleasant dreams. Come, I’ll take you to your nava.-_

_-Actually, may we visit Gabriel’s?-_

_-Why?-_

_-I miss him, Hannah. I’d like to have something of his to remember him by.-_

Hannah thought his request odd—Castiel remembered that Malakin, and angels, were not as sentimental as humans—but she accommodated him anyway. Gabriel’s _nava_ looked the same as it had the last time he’d been there, just with an added layer of dust. He skimmed through Gabriel’s belongings, not really sure what he was looking for. In the end, he found another Winchester Gospel tucked away behind a pile of Gabriel’s clothes. Thumbing through the book, he knew that this was what he was looking for.

 _-What is it?-_ Hannah asked. She peered over Castiel’s shoulder to look at the book.

_-This is why Gabriel left.-_

_-For a book?-_

_For redemption,_ Castiel wanted to tell her. Instead he said, _-Let me tell you a story. This one is called “The End.”_

When Castiel finished the story, Hannah stayed very, very quiet. She’d always been reserved, but her silent observation of Castiel was unnerving. _-You believe this is real?-_

_-Gabriel did.-_

_-I want to know what you believe.-_

How could he explain to Hannah what he’d seen in the Void? How could he explain the Darkness, or Sam, or Gabriel, or Earth? How could he tell Hannah that he had memories of an entire universe other than their own? He settled for _-Yes.-_

Hannah nodded. _-You know that the Elders will never believe you?-_

Castiel knew.

_-They will not let you leave Malaket.-_

Castiel knew that too.

 _-I’ve often wondered if everything the Elders tell us is true. They tell us we’re protecting the universe, but they never told us if there’s more than one.-_ She gestured to Castiel. _-Come, I’ll take you to the Winchester’s spacecraft.-_

_-The Elders will not like that.-_

_-In the words of our dear brother Gabriel, the Elders can ‘bite me.’-_

Castiel laughed for the first time since he left the Void.

* * *

 

Aboard the Impala again, Castiel saw a Dean that had saved the world a dozen times, but he also saw a Dean that had been raised to trust only a few people. The brothers were learning to trust each other again, and with a pang, Castiel remembered days when either Winchester was learning how to live with a soul again.

Castiel gave Gabriel’s books to Sam. Sam was grateful, though a little sad as he headed off to do research. Dean wanted to know what “the deal was” between his brother and Castiel’s, but Castiel was reluctant to put words to it, only saying that Gabriel had been very attached to him. “Gabriel had a special fondness for Sam,” was all Castiel would say.

With no real direction or mission, Dean let Claire choose their next destination. The teenager chose a planet that had the galaxy’s largest amusement park, and after they would go back to Aliz to visit Charlie. The Impala’s crew relaxed, laughing and joking with ease. Castiel did not know how Dean had explained Sam’s presence to the crew, but they all accepted Sam, just as they had Castiel.

He knew that the brothers would be all right when, one day, he came across them in the galley, arguing about the nutritious value of greens from Nivay. “Dude, this is not _kale_ ,” said Sam. “This is nowhere near _kale_.”

“Well you asked for green food, so I gave you green food.”

“No, Dean, I asked for kale and you gave me something that’s like a weird cross of spinach and brussel sprouts.”

“Whaddya want from me? It’s the greenest food in the galaxy!”

Castiel had shared a smile with Bobby, who had just shook his head at the brothers and muttered, “Idjits.” It brought a kind of peace to Castiel, knowing that some things would never change, no matter the galaxy.

Castiel was so content that he had almost forgotten Naomi’s warning until Sam appeared in Claire’s room one day, book in hand. Castiel had been reading to the teenager; this time he had switched the main character’s name to Jimmy. “Cas,” Sam said. “I know why the Darkness let me go. Get this: it’s so she can _escape_.”

Dread crept down Castiel’s spine. “Are you certain?”

“Think about it: she keeps me prisoner for millennia and then just lets me go? Why now? She could have kept us all trapped in the Void but she didn’t. Why not?”

“Because she didn’t need to.” Unbidden, Naomi’s words flitted through Castiel’s mind: _One crack in a pane of glass._

“Exactly. I’m going to keep reading, and see if I can figure out how to stop her.” Sam glanced in the direction of the bridge. “Uh, maybe I’ll see if Jess will help me with, um, research.”

“Oh, I’m sure she will,” Claire chimed in with a smirk. “Jess loves _research.”_

With a blush, Sam left the room. Castiel frowned at Claire. “You embarrassed him,” Castiel said.

“Nah. Samsquatch will live.”

 _See Cassie? That nickname is catchy. My legacy lives on._ Gabriel-in-his-mind cackled with glee.

“Hey, Cas? What did Sam mean about the Void? Are we in danger?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Castiel.

_Liar, liar pants on fire._

* * *

 

That night after everyone had gone to sleep except for Dean, who stayed in the captain’s chair, Castiel pulled out the Winchester Gospels and read through them again. There were no clues on how to defeat the Darkness, and Castiel well remembered that trapping the Darkness had destroyed the last universe in the process. He pictured the crack in the pane of glass spreading, branching out to the farthest reaches of the galaxy, and the Darkness seeping through the crack and infecting the universe.

 _If it’s an infection, you have to keep it from spreading,_ Gabriel-in-his-mind supplied.

_How do I do that?_

_Well, according to Naomi, amputation._

That wasn’t an option. Anything that would hurt Dean was never an option.

_Oh, Cassie, you’re always going to bleed for the Winchesters, aren’t you?_

Maybe not this time. If the pane of glass was cracked, then there was no way to uncrack it unless Castiel could go back to the time before the glass had been broken.

Gabriel-in-his-mind sighed. _There’s no guarantee that will work. She followed you out; she latched onto you. Resetting the timeline may not do anything at all except make the Winchesters strangers to you. Again._

_-I have to try, Gabriel.-_

_You’re insane._

He didn’t argue with Gabriel. He was talking with his dead brother, after all.

He closed all of the books, stacked them outside of Sam’s door, and then made his way up to the bridge. Dean sat in the captain’s chair, feet up on the control board, hands interlocked behind his head. Dean at the wheel of the Impala was the most familiar sight for Castiel, and the most comforting. Dean hummed something that sounded like Led Zeppelin as he gazed out into space.

“Dean.”

Dean turned and met Castiel with a smile. “Hey, angel. What brings you up here?”

“I am finding it difficult to sleep.”

“I’ll bet; you got two universes running through that brain.” Dean hummed some more, but this time it was David Bowie. “No sign of the Hel Empire, and the Darkness is trapped away. If I didn’t think it would jinx us, I’d say we got our happy ending.” He paused. “And I didn’t mean that as a euphemism either.”

“I also came up here because I have something for you.” Castiel pulled the amulet out of his pocket. It glinted in the dim light of the bridge. “I never knew why I kept this, but I suppose that I was just waiting for you.”

Dean took the amulet from Castiel. “You seen it glow? It means God is nearby.”

Castiel didn’t know if the amulet would ever glow again, but the softly burning _nayrah_ was more than enough to prove to him that miracles could happen.

He kissed Dean. It wasn’t tentative, but it was slow, because Castiel wanted to make every moment last a lifetime. He hoped Dean could understand the sentiment behind each drag of their lips, the _I love you_ in the way Castiel’s hand brushed against Dean’s chest near where his heart beat, and the _I’m sorry_ in every breath between kisses. He _should_ tell Dean what Sam said about the Darkness, and how he plans to fix it, but instead he told Dean to set the ship’s controls to autopilot and take him to bed.

In his cabin, he undressed Dean slowly, kissing every inch of the man’s body. Dean was content to let Castiel lead. They moved together in perfect unison, and it was so much better than anything Castiel could have imagined. Being with Dean was better than flying, Castiel decided.

Afterward, when Dean was curled around Castiel, their warmth seeping into each other, Castiel decided that being with Dean was better than anything. He interlaced his fingers with Dean’s and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

* * *

 

Dean was asleep when Castiel left to find Sam. Sam was in the galley, making a sandwich. The man took a large bite, but looked immediately disappointed. “I miss peanut butter,” he said with a sigh. “Do you ever miss Earth, Cas?”

“Sometimes,” Castiel admitted. “There are no cheeseburgers in this universe.”

Sam laughed. “Yeah.” He looked at Castiel. “I’m glad he found you. You two...it’s like, I don’t know, written across the stars or something.” He took another bite of the sandwich. “Man, I wish there was beer.” He turned away, and Castiel took the opportunity to place a hand on Sam’s shoulder and will him into unconsciousness. The man immediately fell into a deep sleep. Once done, Castiel carefully called Sam’s soul to him. He tucked it away and returned to Dean’s room.

His lover stirred when he entered the door. “Hey, angel,” Dean said. “C’mere.”

Castiel curled up next to him, placing one hand on Dean’s hip and the other on his heart. He kissed Dean, kissed him like Dean was the last breath of air in the universe, and then he called Dean’s soul to him. It came willingly, settling next to the _nayrah_.

_Are you sure you can leave him, Cassie?_

What other choice did he have?

_Naomi’s right (I can’t believe I’m saying that). The Winchesters have unbalanced the universe. Again. Only their blood can rebalance it. Or time travel. Possibly._

He knew.

_You can take his soul, and Sam’s, into the past, but you cannot interfere.  That’s the only way to know if the Darkness is still trapped._

He knew.

_You may never meet him again, you know._

Castiel rose from the bed, took one last look at Dean’s unconscious body, then unfurled his remaining _aushath_ and blinked out of existence.


	25. Epilogue

The author checked his timeline, to make sure he’d gotten it right:

  * **_30 years earlier_**
  * _Mary Winchester gave birth to a healthy baby boy named Dean._
  * _That same year, the Hel Empire rose to power._


  * **_26 years earlier_**
  * _Dean Winchester met his younger brother, Sam._
  * _Six months later, the Rebellion was formed._



Yes, it was right, and now it was time to put all the events for the second act in motion. He sat down and scribbled one last scene about Castiel.

* * *

 

For twenty-five years, Castiel had led the Rebellion. Most of the members of the Rebellion had guessed that Castiel was from Malaket, because in twenty-five years, the commander had not aged a day.

But for Castiel, each day felt like a lifetime.

“Commander,” greeted Hannah. “There’s a new recruit I’d like you to meet. I think he would do well in intelligence, sir.”

Hannah, the most loyal member of his team, and also the only other Malak. “Thank you, Hannah. Show him in.”

Castiel had interviewed dozens of new recruits over the years, but when Sam Winchester walked through the door, he was absolutely speechless. It was Sam, younger than he’d ever seen him (save the day Sam was born), wide-eyed and eager to save the universe.

“Name?” Castiel asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Samuel Winchester.”

“Why are you here, Samuel Winchester?”

“My mother—she died in the First Uprising. My father lost himself to grief. My brother...well, he wants nothing to do with either side. But, I would like to make a difference.” Sam told him that his mother had fought, and though he didn't remember her much, he wanted to honor her memory by doing the same. 

No matter the universe, it seemed that the Winchesters were always destined to save people. The thought comforted Castiel. Then, because he couldn't stop himself from hoping that resetting the timeline hadn't made him lose Dean for good, he asked Sam, “Tell me about your brother.”

“He’s a good man, and a great pilot, but he’s confused. He thinks that both sides are wrong. I wish he would have come with me, but he said he wasn’t going to give ‘the man’ the satisfaction.” Sam looked sheepish at his brother’s words.

“That kind of willpower is what we’re looking for,” Castiel admitted.

"Dean's always had a strong will."

"Indeed. Dean sounds like a fine man."

"He is," Sam said. He looked at Castiel with big brown eyes tinged with sadness, and Castiel remembered a time on Earth when Dean had gone to face the Darkness alone and Sam had that same look. "He made his choice," Sam had said then, looking at a sun that was close to disappearing. "Dean's always going to choose to save us, if he can." 

It was a choice that Castiel well understood. "Welcome to the Rebellion," he said to Sam. 

Castiel gestured Sam’s dismissal, and when Hannah returned, he asked her to give Sam training in counterintelligence.

“You trust him,” Hannah stated. She sounded surprised.

Castiel didn’t look at her. “I knew his family. They are trustworthy people.”

When Hannah left, Castiel pulled off his left glove. The _nayrah_ glowed brighter than it had since the day he’d brought Dean’s soul back in time.

He looked back out across the stars and knew that somewhere Dean was in the Impala, and for the first time in any lifetime, Castiel knew that all was as it should be.

* * *

 

The author looked at his manuscript. It was finished. He set the pen down.

Yes, he thought, all was as it should be.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> We truly appreciate any and all readers who made it to the end. Thank you for reading. Kudos and comments are love.
> 
> You can find us on Twitter: @impalamutineers and @dearcollectress.


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